A 'Ripper' in Time
by endlessmuse
Summary: Ripper is transported into Buffy's first year at College. Suffice it to say, his reckless and violent behavior shake things up in Sunnydale. Adam, King Arthur and Hell. Just another adventure for the Scooby Gang. A mix of Canon and AU. Eventual Buffy/Giles. Ripper POV.
1. The Prologue

A chilly breeze swept through the street, bringing with it flecks of water that had clung to buildings and streetlamps. The sidewalk was still wet from the rain that had just cleared out of the city, though the young man took no care in avoiding the remaining puddles. The water sloshed up against his worn tennis shoes, soaking the turn-ups on his jeans. For as bustling a city as London was, it was quiet now. Still. It was too late for the good people of the city to be awake, and too early for the nightmares to take to the streets. This absence of population was where one Rupert Giles found himself treading. With a bag slung over his shoulder, the twenty-one year old watched the bus that had dropped him off continue on down the street.

Puffing on his fag, he tried to find solace in the medicating affects. He'd had a nightmare on the bus . . . his nightmares were often very similar. The day where he and his classmates had been sent off to take down a vampire . . . and found a Lorophage demon instead. The screams were what haunted him in his nightmares. Blood he could deal with . . . gore, in general, even . . . but not helpless, agonized screaming. His fingers trembled as he took the fag from his mouth, blowing out some smoke. Rupert closed his eyes, repressing the memory. He was finished with all of that. His father could go to Hell for all he cared. What sort of father forced his son into that sort of life, anyway? A life of trauma and death? "Bloody tosser," he grunted to himself, adjusting the bag more comfortably on his shoulder.

He continued to walk down the sidewalk, a lone figure under the cloudy night sky. A trail of cigarette smoke followed him, wafting up to the sky before it disappeared. His leather jacket wasn't doing much for the cold, so he bunched it closer together, the rage inside of his heart warming the rest of him. Fuck the Watchers. Fuck every single one of them. They were cruel slave-drivers. Heartless. Rupert might even consider them monsters, the way they just sacrificed innocent lives as if it meant nothing. As if it cost nothing.

A sudden familiar song, Blue Oyster Cult's _Don't Fear the Reaper_ , drifted over the suffocating silence of the city. Rupert turned his feet in the direction of it. As he had expected, it was a pub. Pushing the door open, he found it surprisingly full. Leather jackets abound in this place, it seemed. Rupert headed for the bar, putting in an order of inexpensive ale. Reaching into his pocket, he touched the few coins that he had. Bugger it. He paid for the drink and brought the bottle to his lips after stamping out his fag. So what if he was spending the last of his income on alcohol? It wasn't as though he had anywhere to go. He was just another lost soul in London. Some worthless cannon fodder for the demons to take down. A name with a line drawn through it.

His mood soured further the more he drank. However, he caught the eye of some blond woman a few seats down. She blushed and looked away . . . then looked back. Rupert smirked. Coy. Just as he was about to move next to her, a snatch of conversation caught his interest.

"—magic outside right now. Wankers have reached their last level of creep."

"They think they're better than everyone else, pretending to cast spells. I say we teach 'em a lesson!"

"Yeah!"

Rupert turned his head and watched a group of leather-jacketed tossers heading out of the side door. A gang, obviously. He ought to just leave it alone . . . go speak to that blond bird . . . but magic. He finished off his ale in two more gulps, then left through the side door without sparing the blond another look. He arrived in the alley just in time to see the gang entering what appeared to be an abandoned building next door. Clenching his jaw, he followed after them, attempting to keep a low profile. The drink had made him bold . . . and the anger inside of him was reaching a boiling point. Rupert clenched his fists together, following the gang upstairs to a candle-lit room.

"There they are! You weren't fooling."

"What'choo up to now? Gonna make warts appear on us?" There was a sound of cruel laughter. Rupert peeked his head around the wall to peer within the room. It was certainly abandoned. Empty, save for a few desks and chairs. Clearly, this had once been an office building, but that had been decades ago. Rust and ceiling leaks over the years had filled it with mold and must. However, the most intriguing thing about the room was the group of five people seemingly around his own age. One girl, four boys. They sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by candles. They formed a pentagram, some sort of chalice in the middle. They were doing magic. Not well either, it seemed, as most of them shrank at the sight of the gang.

"We're tired of your shite. Get off our turf, before we make you," the tall one of the gang said, obviously the leader.

One of the casters stood, his hands clenched at his side. "We won't. We are free to do what we like here. It's an open building for anyone's use. And-and, you can all sod off before _we_ make you," the young man said, his chin lifted . . . though it was clear he was nervous.

The leader laughed, his goons echoing his laugh. "Remember the last time you tried to do that, Rayne? Eh?" He pushed the caster back, taking a threatening step towards him again. "Didn't quite work, did it?" The boy named Rayne looked down in shame. "Now, clear off . . . she can stay though," he nodded to the only girl in the pentagram. "Got a few ideas for her, don't we, lads?" The chuckles were now menacing, their intent clear. The girl trembled and clutched one of the other casters next to her.

Rupert had seen enough. He was shaking from the rage. "Leave them alone," he growled, stepping into the room. Some part of him panicked. What was he doing? He was Rupert Giles. He didn't get into fights. However, something else . . . this new . . . dark . . . angry side of him . . . was fed up. He was tired of it all. Tired of being pushed around. Tired of seeing others pushed around. He was in charge of his destiny.

"Oho, look at this hot-shot," the leader turned to him. "Hullo there, Charley. Sure you want to start this? It's not going to end well."

Rupert's jaw clenched tightly, the strain of it nearly giving him a tension headache. Before he knew it, he murmured, "ignis surculus," tapping into the elements of the world, using his own energy to fuel the spell . . .and then threw a fireball at the gang. They shrieked, dispersing. One caught on fire and dropped to the ground, rolling. Rupert wasted no time and launched himself at the leader. Vaguely, he saw the Rayne kid go after one of the others, fists flying. Rupert slammed his fist into his opponent's head, grunting and losing himself in his anger and violence. God, but it . . . it felt incredible. His fist collided with his face, splintering bone and making blood splatter. At some point, he had fallen onto the ground with the opponent. He managed to kick Rupert in the ribs, which made him lose his breath for a moment.

This allowed the leader to roll him over. Rupert received a punch . . . two punches to the face, his nose nearly breaking in the process. He saw stars on the second one, his head hitting the wooden floor beneath him. Grunting, he reached up blindly, blocking a few more of the punches. There were sounds of violence all around him, as well as someone shouting, "its burning down! Get out of here!" Rupert shot his hand forward, and the fists stopped coming at him, but a wail occurred instead. Opening his eyes, he saw that he had stuck his fingers into the leader's eyes. Rupert felt . . . eerily calm in that moment. He could make this young man hurt. Just rip him apart. He could kill him, even. This control . . . this power . . . it felt good. The opponent started to clutch at him, trying to remove him. Rupert removed his fingers from his eye sockets, leaving his eyes in, but he shoved him off.

Getting to his feet, he kicked him in the stomach. "Clear off. This is my turf now," he growled, his speech slurred just a little due to the lump forming on his cheek and jaw. Rupert turned his attention to the others. They had more or less run off. The fire he had created was eating up the building, engulfing it in flames. The former leader of the gang crawled out, coughing. Rupert saw Rayne at the door, waving him over.

"Come on! It's all going to burn down!" he shouted over the cracking wood. Rupert shook himself out of the fighting daze and hurried over, ducking underneath the burning beams of wood. He followed Rayne downstairs and out onto the street. The flames had made it outside, and those in the pub next door were hurrying out and out of the way. Far-off, Rupert could hear sirens wailing. "Oi, come with us," Rayne said, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and tugging him along. Rupert hesitated, looking back at the building, and then followed Rayne down the street. They walked for a time without speaking.

Rupert reflected on what had just occurred. His face was stinging, aching . . .as were his knuckles. God, but he felt _good._ He wanted to do it again. And the spell . . . it had come so easily. He never remembered magic being so easy before. At long last, they made it to a run-down house stuck between two equally run-down homes. Rayne unlocked the gate to the porch, letting Rupert enter first. "We saw what you did back there," Rayne said, finally, closing and locking the gate behind them. "With the fireball. That's real magic right there." He guided Rupert up the stairs and into the house.

The others were there, soot-covered, but unharmed. They sat about the sitting room in obviously rescued armchairs and sofas. They looked at Rupert curiously as he entered. "I think it's clear you're one of us," Rayne said, gesturing for him to sit down in one of the armchairs. "What do you think, everyone?"

"Definitely," one of the other boys said. "I've never seen anything like that."

"You saved us," the girl said quietly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She swallowed, composing herself. "That makes you one of us."

"We're all magic casters, you see," Rayne said. "Or, trying to be. We're learning. As you've seen it's gotten us into a wee bit of trouble with the local scum. But we won't let that stop us," he said with a touch of bravado. "The magic we deal with is far scarier than anything they could ever dream up." Rayne eyed Rupert. "You don't scary easily, do you?"

Rupert analyzed himself. "No. No, I don't." Not anymore.

"Good. Yes, you'll do nicely," Rayne ran his gaze over him, almost hungrily. "Name's Ethan Rayne," he extended his hand. "And what might we call our newest brother?"

Rupert reached forward, gripping his hand tightly. Rupert was a thing of the past. That much was clear. He was a puppet controlled by the Council and his father. No. Now, he was, "Ripper." He squeezed Ethan's hand, a cold glint appearing in his eye, "I'm Ripper."


	2. A Crabby Monster

A year had passed since Rupert, now widely known as Ripper, had joined his little rag-tag gang. Since the fire, their reputation had spread. Everyone whispered about the gang who seemed invincible. Nothing could touch them, and everyone bowed to them. They'd discovered a form of hypnotism in their spell-casting. For the feeble-minded, they could convince them to give them their drinks for free, or part with some money. There was a new terror in London, and Ripper was the head of it. His new nickname had panned out well in the long-run. He preferred a good fight over a conversation. On his bad days, he'd brawl with someone who he thought looked at him wrong. London was their city . . . and Ripper was king.

Tonight was a big night. They were going to try Summoning a demon. His name was Eyghon.

"If the books tell it true," Ripper said, a cigarette dangling from his lips, "we'll have ourselves a right good romp in a few minutes time." Smirking, he closed the book he had been reading and set it down. Getting up from his beanbag, he walked over to Dierdre and Philip, who were drawing the symbols onto the wooden floor of the attic. They performed all of their magic here. Privately, they had their own pentagrams and ingredients. Ripper himself had a few collected jars of rare ingredients to be used in casting. "Make sure you get every design perfect," he told them. "He's a tricky one."

There had been a long discussion on who would be the first to be possessed as well. Ripper would have volunteered if he wasn't needed for the initial casting. So, Ethan had volunteered, but only so long as Ripper promised he wouldn't fudge it up. Ethan was his best mate. He wasn't going to let anything happen to him. Speaking of . . . "Have you gotten the ink and drill?" Ripper asked Ethan, who was sitting in a corner of the room at a desk.

"Yeah, I've been practicing drawing the Mark all bloody day. My hands are starting to cramp!" Ethan complained.

"Well, if you used your hands for more than just wanking, you might have a bit more finger strength," Ripper smirked.

"Bastard," Ethan laughed. "Come and take a look. What do you think?" Ripper left Dierdre and Philip and walked over to the desk. Looking at the drawings, he nodded. Each one looked exactly like the symbol in the book. "Someone's going to have to do me. I'm not _that_ good."

"I will," Ripper said, sitting on the edge of the desk and practicing drawing the Mark. He bit down on his fag for a moment, a beat passed, and he glanced up at Ethan. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"And have the best sexual experience of my life? Yes, please. You only live once, and I intend on experiencing every pleasure in this world that I can," Ethan said, his trademark smirk in place. Ethan was daring. Ripper had to give him that. It was Ethan and himself who had discovered Eyghon in the first place. They had put in the time and research on how to Summon him correctly. "Don't get all weepy-eyed on me now, mate. Wouldn't want to ruin that reputation of yours."

Ripper punched his arm, making Ethan grunt in pain. "Go ahead and die. I won't even come to your funeral," he smirked.

"There wouldn't be any room for you. It'd be full of birds," Ethan grinned.

"Oh? Then I'll definitely be there. What's that one girl's name . . .? Olivia? I'll make sure she's comforted right and proper after you're gone," Ripper chuckled.

"Don't you dare! I'll come back and be a Poltergeist for the rest of your sodding life," Ethan warned, though he had a playful glint in his eyes.

"That so? You'll be a more useful member of society," Ripper laughed, smoke billowing from his lips from his cigarette. The two traded punches and jabs before the attic door opened and Randall entered.

"I brought the snacks!" he announced. "Pasties!"

"Bloody hell, about time. I'm famished," Ripper pushed off of the desk and grabbed a pasty, tearing into it. "Who'd you get them from?"

Randall was a tiny bloke. All skin and bones. But he was bright. Where he preferred to let Ripper, Ethan and Thomas take the more physical side of their gang-related activities, he was certainly one of the masterminds. He had long, shaggy hair, a dirty blond and sharp blue eyes. These days, he was sporting a goatee that he was starting to braid. Rubbing his nose, Randall replied, "Mrs. Leeds. I think I might have worked the spell a bit too much. She nearly gave me thrice what I ordered. I couldn't carry that much." Randall frowned then. "There was a bit of trouble though. The Hornets came in just as I was leaving. Gave me a nasty look. They might be trying for another push in our territory."

Ripper frowned. The Hornets had been a thorn in their side for the past month. He was beginning to suspect the leader might either be a warlock . . . or quite possibly a vampire. It was a troubling notion . . . but not impossible. "We'll talk about that tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate." The promise of possible bloodshed soon put Ripper in quite an excellent mood. Snacking on his pasty, he returned to Deirdre and Philip, aiding in drawing out a few symbols as well.

Later that night, they were prepared to begin the Summoning. Ripper rubbed his arm, which was still sore and itchy from Ethan's newfound tattooing skills. He looked at his forearm, where the black shape of the Mark stared up at him ominously. God, this was going to be a trip. "You sleepy yet, Rayne?" Ripper asked, leaning over to put a different record on the gramophone. Rock music started to pound against the crumbling beams of the attic.

"Not with that racket you keep blasting," Rayne grumbled, sleeping on a makeshift bed prepared in the middle of their Summoning Circle. "Toss me another sleeping cap, will you?" Thomas handed him the desired relaxant and a cup of tea. Ethan swallowed the cap down, and then settled back in. "It would also help if you lot stopped staring at me."

Ripper snorted and sat back in his beanbag, smoking once more. They waited another hour before Ethan's snoring was heard by all. Ripper nodded. It was time. The candles were lit, the powdered ingredients blown across the circle, and they joined hands around the circle. "Eyghon Deus voluptates. Uti accepta habeas, et inambulabo inter nos dicimus pientissimam sacrificium. Donum nobis cum facie tua et tanturn nos tua gratia. Humilis servi vestri sumus foedus inite," Ripper chanted, drawing on both his energy, and those with whom he clasped hands with. At first, there was nothing, not even a flicker in the energy around them. "Focus now," he commanded, his impatience beginning to spark. All of a sudden, there was a tingling sensation at his Mark. Ripper paused, beginning to hope . . . and then everything was turned on its head.

The entire attic shook, the ferocity of it nearly sending all of them toppling onto their backs. The candles were knocked over and blown out. Ripper jumped up, which proved to be a poor decision, as he couldn't quite gain his feet. He toppled over Ethan, who had awoken thoroughly groggily to the seeming earthquake that was happening. Before Ethan could even slur a question, the circle they had drawn into the wood seemed to decompress . . . the wood sinking. A bright light shone from the runes, spreading until it blinded Ripper. He closed his eyes, trying to feel for something to hold onto . . . and then felt a wooden table. The light behind his eyes disappeared, and the ground stopped shaking.

Hearing panting and swearing around him, Ripper opened his eyes and blinked a few times to ensure he was seeing it correctly. They were in an entirely different room. The attic, dirty and old, had been replaced with a sitting room. One filled with bookcases and poor furniture choices. "Where the bloody hell are we?" Ethan asked, pushing himself up from the floor.

Ripper rubbed his head, trying to gain ground as well. "Well, considering you're awake and not sodding possessed, I suspect the Summoning didn't work," he muttered. Had he transported them into someone's home on accident? But how could a Summoning Spell accidently turn into a Transportation spell? The two were nothing alike, incantation-wise and ritual-wise. "Look, we need to get out of here and head back to the house. I'm not exactly in the mood for incarceration today." The others quickly agreed and headed for the front door—when it suddenly opened.

"Giles! Thank God. You won't believe—Hang on. Who are you?" a group of teens stood poised at the door. They looked to be about their age. Two girls—a blond and redhead—and one guy—who looked a little . . . dopey. Ripper looked them over cautiously. Did they live here? The girl who had asked, the blond, clenched her fist. "Where's Giles?"

Ripper blinked, shifting. How did they know his name? "Listen, luv, we're not here for any trouble. If you could all just shimmy to the side, we'll be on our way."

"Oh god." The blonde's eyes widened. "Not again. Nope. This is so not happening again." The others blinked, and then realization seemed to occur in their faces as well.

"B-Buffy, do you think?" the redhead poked Buffy's shoulder.

"Oh, I think a-plenty. The question is how? And who are they? And, more importantly, why is he young this time? It's weird. Stop being weird!" The blond exclaimed at him, and Ripper's brows pulled together.

"Look, luv. Only one being a tad wonky here is you. Now move. Before I make you," he said, taking a threatening step forward.

The three paused . . . and then started laughing. Ripper's jaw tightened, annoyance flaring. Who did these three think they were? His hand curled into a fist. "Oh, buddy," the blond recovered, waving her hand. "You don't want to do that. Look, obviously, whatever candy you ate this time did something for your memory, too. Let's start this at the top, yeah? You're Ripper, right? Alias, Rupert . . . err . . . whatever your middle name is . . . Giles. You were going to be a Watcher, but you dropped out and now you're with," she nodded to those behind him, "those . . . but hang on." Ripper was reeling that she knew who he was . . . exactly who he was, and thus missed her softly-spoken comment, "they're supposed to be dead." As the blond, Buffy he heard the redhead call her, puzzled this, he lashed forward and slammed her up against the door.

"Hey!" the boy cried, but the redhead pushed him back.

"How do you know who I am?" Ripper growled, pressing his forearm up against Buffy's throat, cutting off her air supply. "Did they send you? Did you do this?" he asked. "They're not taking me back. I washed my hands of that world."

"Giles . . . don't . . . want . . . hurt you," Buffy struggled, her face turning purple.

Ripper smirked at that. "A little thing like you? And what's the worst you—OOF!" he was suddenly kicked back with a power he'd only felt from the biggest of gangsters he'd fought. He stumbled back into the room, his friends scattering and giving him room. He held his stomach where she had landed the kick, feeling the bruise forming there already. "Alright," he removed his leather jacket, tossing it over the sofa. "Let's have ourselves a little dance." He held up his hands, hungry for the fight.

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned to the other two. "Guys, go look for Giles, alright? He obviously has some explaining to do." They nodded and snuck into the house, splitting off to search the house. Ripper ignored them, focused on the blond with the mean kick. "You asked for it, buddy. Don't feel bad for crying when I beat you."

Ripper scoffed. "Lots of talk. Let's see some moves." Buffy nodded and came at him. He fended off another kick, though his arm took a hard hit from the defense. She had incredible strength. Where did she keep all of her muscle? Blimey. Ripper ducked a side-punch, tuning on his heel and kicking her in the side. Buffy grunted, but it was as if his kick barely even phased her. He was growing more alarmed . . . and irritated. She landed a hit into his chest, and that sent him flying backwards onto the floor. Ripper gasped, the wind very nearly knocked entirely out of him.

"Come on, Ripper! Show her what you're made of!" Ethan called, the others cheering.

Grunting, he pushed himself up and faced her once more. It was clear she knew some sort of professional fighting style. He had only a few years' worth of training under his belt. Most of his fighting was just performed on rage and brute, relentless strength. Ripper faked to her left, then pivoted and charged her from the right, knocking her over and tackling her down to the ground. Pinning her, he struggled to keep her legs from kicking him off, tangling and wrapping his own around hers. The two were battling with their arms. He held her hands in his, and he pushed down, whilst she was pushing up. He was trying to keep them pinned up above her head. If he could just . . . all of a sudden, her head came up to his, and she head-butted him right in the nose.

"Unf!" he grunted, releasing her and falling onto his back, holding his nose. The pain was excruciating, and he felt warm liquid leaking down his fingers. "Fuck," he swore, slowly sitting up, panting hard. He was damned exhausted . . . and he had hardly inflicted any damage! "What the bloody hell—"

"Buffy! Buffy, you have to read this!" the redhead came running back with a piece of paper in her hands. "You won't believe—" a roar from outside made them all freeze. "Uh oh."

"Looks like that thing we came to talk to Giles about is already here," the boy said, gulping visibly.

"Okay. Obviously, we don't have time to consult. So . . . we . . . uh just need to defeat it. We can do that. Right, guys?" Buffy asked, pushing herself back up.

"Um, hello? Did you see that thing?" the boy asked incredulously. "It's bigger than this house!"

"Xander is right," the redhead said, her voice trembling slightly. "How can we stop something that huge?"

Ripper, doing his best to ignore the headache now brewing in his skull, pushed himself up, wiping the blood from his nose onto his jeans. "What's going on now?"

"Um," Buffy glanced at him, then over at his friends. "Big kid stuff. You should all stay inside where it's safe."

"Now, hang on," Ripper said, his brow furrowing. "If anyone is the little kid around here, it's you, luv. And if there's a fight to be had, then we're in." Besides, he needed to punch something to make himself feel better after the walloping she had given him. Another roar rumbled through the house, making the foundation tremble. A . . . monster? "Ask questions later, fight now?" he asked, extending his hand to Buffy.

She eyed him, then slowly shook his hand. "Fine. But no one plays the hero. Follow me." She led them outside of the flat, hurrying towards the street where . . . a huge crustacean-looking monster stomped down the street. It had four legs on each side, the force with which it walked drilling holes into the asphalt. The only difference from this monster—as Ripper had no other word for it—and a crab was that instead of a shell on its back, it sported spikes. There was also a noticeable head, though the head did contain huge pincers that was grabbing cars along the way and crushing it easily between the two jaws.

"Blimey," he whispered, his heart racing immediately. The neighborhood was shrieking, running away from the monster. "Alright, what's the plan?" he asked the blond, as it was rather obvious she was the leader of her little gang.

"Uh . . . well," she bit her lip, "that's kinda why we were here in the first place. Giles is sort of the brains. Knows how to kill monsters. Always has a plan. That sort of thing." She gazed at him expectantly. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

He frowned at her. "Should it? I don't exactly spend my time with crabs."

"I wouldn't say that. There was that one bird from Liverpool who worried you a bit after—"

"Not now, Ethan!" Ripper glared at him, and Rayne only grinned and winked at Buffy, who looked quite perturbed. Turning his attention back to her, he shrugged a shoulder. "Whatever your Giles knew, I don't. But my guess?" He nodded to the creature's head. "Always go for the head."

"Right. Only question . . . how do I get up there?" she asked, frowning. Ripper surveyed the area . . . then smirked.

"I've got you there. Follow me. The rest of you, distract it. Keep it exactly where it's standing now," Ripper ordered. "Come on, my little duckling. Follow me." He heard a scoff behind him and smirked. Ripper ran off to a rather nice-looking car parked innocently on the side of the street. He broke the driver's side window with his elbow and reached in, undoing the lock.

"Giles, what are you doing? Now is not the time to steal cars. Crisis on hand. Sebastian on steroids on the loose, remember?" Buffy prodded.

"Ripper," he grunted, opening the door and getting into the seat. He reached under the steering wheel and started hot-wiring. "'Giles' is my father, and I'd appreciate it if you refrained from reminding me of him."

"Oh, right, sorry," Buffy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I forgot. Big bad boy in town."

"No need to get all flustered," Ripper smirked, teasing her. The car sprang to life, and he slammed the door shut. Rolling down the passenger-side window, he nodded to it. "Climb on it. Don't get in, just climb on it."

"What? Why? What are we—" Buffy paused. ". . . Oh. Well . . . Always wanted to be an action star. Hit it, Giles!"

"Ripper!" he cried, and then slammed his foot down on the gas. The sport's car roared down the street, away from the creature at first. Once they had enough room, Ripper turned the car around and faced the creature. They had about a hundred yards to pick up enough speed. Revving the engines, Ripper smirked to himself. The adrenaline was making him giddy. "Ready?" he shouted over to Buffy, who was crouched on the passenger window, her feet on the sill, the rest of her body outside of the car. She gave him a thumbs up. Ripper looked back at the creature. His friends and Buffy's had all taken a leg each. They were hitting it and forcing it to go in circles and try to attack them, keeping it exactly where Ripper needed it to be.

Letting off the brake, he shoved the gas petal into the floor, the car shooting forward. Ripper felt the excitement building and building, his heart beating furiously in his chest. He aimed right for the creature, picking up more and more speed. They were just twenty yards from the creature, when Ripper suddenly turned the car to the side, driving up a part of the asphalt that had broken off and chipped upwards, like a ramp. The car soared through the air. "NOW!" he shouted at Buffy.

As if in slow-motion, he watched Buffy climb to the top of the car, then run down towards the trunk as the car soared over the creature. Ripper released a wild and gleeful war cry, watching Buffy out of the mirror land on the back of the creature, only just missing one of its spikes. The car landed on the other end of the street, and he held onto the steering wheel fast to keep it under control. It bounced a few times, making him hit his head against the top of the car . . . and knocking him out.

"I think he's waking up."

"Some things never change."

"Obviously, this shows that being knocked out has been occurring throughout his entire life and did not suddenly crop up after meeting me. Right, guys? Guys?" That last voice was the girl's. Buffy's.

Ripper groaned, feeling his head throbbing with the worst headache he'd ever felt . . . and he'd been hungover once for a week. Slowly, he opened his eyes, seeing a circle of faces above him. He tasted blood in his mouth, coppery and thick. Spitting it out, he slowly sat up, feeling his head swim. "What . . . What?"

"We won," Buffy said, nodding to the giant carcass sitting in the middle of the street.

"Yeah, Buffy got him zombie-style," the boy, Xander, said. "Wonder what they'll write this one off as."

"Radiation poisoning," the redhead nodded, looking quite certain of herself.

"How are you doing, mate?" Ethan pushed past the others, helping him sit up further. "You gave us a right good scare there, you twit."

"Always wanted to do that," Ripper gave a throaty chuckle, rubbing his head. "Fly in a car, not . . . give a good scare." Ethan helped him to his feet, and Ripper blinked a few times, the dizziness fading after awhile. "I think I'm alright . . . nothing some rest won't fix. Rest and alcohol. Was there any booze in that house?"

"Loads. Scotch and brandy, in fact. Good stuff," Ethan helped him towards the house.

They headed for the house, leaving the dead body where it was. The government would swoop in and make some sort of excuse. No one wanted to admit that monsters roamed the world. Ripper knew this well. Once they had returned to the home that apparently belonged to a Giles, Ripper sank into an armchair with a groan and reached for his carton of cigarettes. He was still shaking from it all. He needed to mellow. Lighting a cigarette, he offered some to the others—Ethan and Thomas accepted, no one else—and then puffed away. "So, let's exchange questions, yeah?" he grunted, rubbing his neck.

"We can . . . wait, until you're feeling better," Buffy said, giving him an anxious look. She had a gash on her cheek as well. Ripper could only imagine what he looked like.

"That's only going to keep me up. Let's have it out," Ripper insisted.

"Right, Willow? You said there was a letter or something?" Buffy asked, curling up on the sofa and resting her head wearily on the arm rest.

Ripper examined her for a moment. A girl of incredible strength . . . who had just destroyed a monster ten times her size. One who knew about Watchers . . . She couldn't be . . . the Slayer? But he knew the Slayer. She was currently in Australia. This was definitely not Australia. The redhead, Willow, jumped up and grabbed the letter she had left on the tabletop. "Okay, guys. Bear with me until the end . . . It's a letter from Giles . . . a letter of farewell."

LINE BREAK

*Latin Translation: Eyghon, God of Pleasures. We summon you to accept our sacrifice and walk among us. Gift us with your presence and enrapture us with your grace. We are your humble servants.


	3. Turbulence

_-Buffy_

 _I know it will be difficult to understand this, but I need you to try. When you graduated from Sunnydale, I had never been more proud of anyone in my life. Not only had you achieved something that normal people take for granted, but you also vanquished one of the biggest evils we have ever faced. You did so with poise, strength and such skill as, to my biased opinion, has ever been seen from a Slayer. I knew that you going off to College would mean I'd see you less. I accepted that. I even accepted that I was unemployed, since we off and blew up the school._

 _I thought I could find some solace in taking a backseat and letting you come into your own. I was no longer your Watcher, and so I could not rightly force my training or knowledge on you unless you came to me first. And for a time, I was happy with finding new hobbies and settling into life as a gentleman of leisure. But the more you slew with the others, the more I realized how utterly unneeded I was. You've outgrown your Watcher, Buffy. This isn't something to be ashamed of or even saddened about. It's remarkable, and it commends you for your victories and sacrifice and all that you have learned._

 _If there is any pain in this knowledge, it is only that in out-growing me, I find that I no longer have a place in your life. I tried to. I offered my ear and my resources when the lot of you were stuck. But it became clearer and clearer to me that I was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. A 'father's love' you once heard Travers say about me in regards to you. Well, I am not your father, but that hasn't kept me from loving you any less. It is because of this love, however, this need to be of more assistance to you, so that I can truly help you stand against all the darkness you shall face, that I have made this decision._

 _I discovered the spell recently, but I didn't make mention of it, because I knew what you'd say. And, since I have always been rather powerless over you, I would have listened. For once, Buffy, listen to me absolutely—I do this of a happy heart and of my own free will. If you're reading this letter, then the spell worked, and there ought to be a young man with you. You met him briefly a year ago. He goes by Ripper, but you know him . . . as . . . well me. Pulling him from the past requires a sacrifice. We both can't live in the same time dimension. He will help you, and I shall disappear. It's a sacrifice worth making._

 _Now I can help you in a far greater capacity than I ever could. I'm younger, stronger, and—provided my casting is precise—I wouldn't have been blocking out my magic. The drawback is, yes, you're meeting me at a rather rough patch in my life. I've dropped out of Oxford and the Watcher Academy. I've witnessed my classmates meaningless and needless slaughter at the hands of the Council. And I'm a bit of a Narcissist and Anarchist. Sorry._

 _But if anyone can handle me, it's you, Buffy. Ripper appreciates strength and challenges. He may act the tosser, but deep down he's that fuddy-duddy you know so well. Help him, so he can help you. I wouldn't have done this unless I believed it to be your best chance. He may not have a polished education at this point, but he's still intelligent—deep, deep down in his brain, I assure you—utilize him._

 _I love you, Buffy. I am, and shall always remain, your Watcher and friend,_

 _-Rupert Giles_

Ripper frowned at the letter for the fourth time. The room was silent, save for the girl Willow and Buffy, who were quietly sniffling on the sofa. They had all taken a turn to read the letter, and one-by-one, they had fallen silent and sullen. His friends look perplexed and annoyed, none more so than Ethan. "So, let me get this straight," he said, rising up from the stool he had been sitting on. "Your future self cast some sort of spell that brought the lot of us here? Erasing himself from this reality? Well, we were bloody brought, too! Does that mean our future selves were erased!?" Ethan exclaimed. "What if I was a bloody millionaire? Your sodding future self just cocked it up for me!"

"Don't look at me!" Ripper shouted back. "I didn't ask for this! I was pretty happy where we were at!" He felt irritated. Even his future self couldn't keep from meddling in his life. Everyone wanted to control him, wanted to shape him into something he didn't want to be. Whoever Rupert Giles was in this reality, he'd obviously had someone break him and turn him into another toy soldier for the Council. Well, not him. He only did what _he_ wanted to do. The rest could sod off. There had to be a way to fix this. "We should find the spell. Use it to return back to our time."

"And what? Just leave your Slayer without any form of Watcher?" Buffy spoke finally, her eyes watery and red.

"I'm not a Watcher, luv. Sorry to say it, but your Watcher abandoned you. Exactly why he shouldn't have been tricked back into that prison in the first place," Ripper shot back, standing up. "You can give the Council a call. They have a whole slew of Watchers just waiting to be Called into action."

Buffy shot up, glaring at him. "Giles sacrificed himself for you. For me. There's no way of getting him back, so since I'm stuck with you, you're going to have to shape up and listen to me."

Ripper's jaw set. "I didn't ask him to. I don't want to be any Slayer's walking encyclopedia. I'm more than that." He was going to have been a fighter pilot. A rock star. The King of London. Now, he had to . . . to what? Play the Watcher for some girl he didn't even know? Throw away his life for her? No. No, he lived for himself and only for himself.

"Then prove it," Buffy challenged, her eyes sharp and commanding despite the sadness clinging to them. Everyone else was still, looking between the two. Even Willow, who had been bandaging everyone up following the fight, paused and looked at them. "Prove you're something more than just a walking encyclopedia. Fight with me." Her lip slowly curled. "Or are you scared of the little monsters?" Ripper tensed at that, and her eyes shined with victory. "Ohh, that's it, isn't it? Widdle Wipper is scared of the monsters. You know," she shrugged, "even though I face them and kill them every day. Me. A girl."

Ripper scowled, turning away from her. She was pricking his pride now. Bloody woman. Ethan was looking at him expectantly, as were the others. He had a duty to them, too. They hadn't asked to be pulled here. "We'll look for the spell," he said, his friends smiling and nodding, "and whilst we're looking for it," he turned back to Buffy, "I'll help you kill your little demons." Buffy nodded, though she looked grim. Ripper needed a cigarette. What a day.

Buffy and the others cleared out after awhile, and Ripper was left with his friends in the house that, apparently, belonged to him. He examined it thoroughly. There were books upon books, most—if not all—filled with details about the Occult. Ripper didn't understand. He knew how he felt about this whole business. He hated it. What could have made him completely change his tune? It had obviously happened before Buffy was called to be the Slayer. Ripper examined photographs his older self had acquired. Many of them pictured himself—what was with the glasses?—and the three he had just met. They looked happy. Proud, even.

His friends started to make themselves at home. They were curious about things as well. This was, after all, definitely no longer the seventies. Ethan had volunteered to cook dinner that night. His older self certainly hadn't skimped out on food. There was a lot of booze, too. Good for him. Ripper sat at the desk situated near the door and looked through the drawers. More books, some pieces of parchment, and something that looked a bit different than the other books. Pulling it out, Ripper realized that it was a journal. Making himself comfortable—which meant his feet were propped up on the desk—he began to read the words 'Giles' had written.

The journal was primarily an account of the adventures he had shared with his Slayer. Though it did give Ripper some insight as to the dynamics of the little group. It was becoming clear the more he read that his older self really had felt helpless. His little group had grown into a capable fighting force that no longer required adult supervision. Ripper frowned to himself. He supposed he could understand Giles' decision then. It was clear his life was the Slayer's. Without her, he didn't have much of one. "Poor sap," Ripper grunted, reading the last entry and closing the book.

"Any mention of me in there?" Ethan called from where he was cooking. "Millionaire, right?"

"Close," Ripper said, turning his chair to face Ethan, "apparently, you become a bloody moron. Big surprise, eh? I believe the word I used to describe you was 'arch-nemesis.'"

"Oh, I'm honored," Ethan bowed mockingly. "Always knew I was destined for great things." He grinned, pouring the stew into bowls. "Alright, you slobs, come and get it!" After they had grabbed their food and were eating quietly, Ethan looked over at Ripper. "You know I wouldn't betray you, Ripper. You're my mate. My brother."

Ripper waved him off. "Different reality, right? I'm sure you were fine. I became a bloody Watcher and boring. I probably just forgot what fun was," he grunted. Ethan smiled at that, and they continued to eat. "I'm going to find a way to get us all home," he said to them. "I know some of you have families," he looked over at Dierdre and Randall, in particular. "I'll get you back to them. Promise."

"You had best," Dierdre said. "We were just supposed to summon a demon. Not . . . blast to the future! I mean, I read the letter. Our realities here are erased. What if I had a family here, too? What if I'm a mother? Does that mean my children don't exist either? What else did you fuck up, Ripper?" she demanded, the venom in her voice sharp. It was clear this had been festering.

Ripper bristled, his hand tightening around his spoon. "It wasn't as though I _asked_ for this. I like it here just as much as you do, D. Believe me, I'm highly motivated to return home." Back where he was in control of his life. Back where he was a king. "We'll start researching tomorrow. Tonight, we'll rest and gain our bearings. We'll likely need some more clothes, too. One set isn't going to last us very long."

Ethan spoke up then. "Why don't we take a gander of the town after dinner? We can pick up supplies, see if there's anything worth fucking up around here." He had that mischievous look in his eye. The twinkle that told Ripper he was going to get into trouble. Good. Trouble he knew how to handle. Ripper nodded in agreement, and they returned to their meal.

* * *

"Blimey, this place is dull," Ethan said, balancing on the edge of the sidewalk as they walked. "This is downtown? Just this stretch? Where's the brothels? The neon lights? The underground rock halls?"

Ripper was walking on the street beside him, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. He shared his friend's distaste for the town. This was definitely no London. It was too . . . white-picket fence. Not nearly seedy enough. "Maybe it just needs a good shake up," he said, tossing a smirk over at Ethan, who returned the smirk. "Who better to bring Rock n' Roll to a sleepy town than a pair of troublemakers?"

"I like the way you think," Ethan punched his shoulder. "Come on, there has to be a pub around here somewhere."

"There is," Ripper said, recalling a place he had read in the journal, "it's called the Bronze. The only real club they have around here. Let's check it out." The duo searched for the pub, walking down a dark alley to its doors. Ripper saw great potential the moment they walked in. There was a large stage, people dancing, and the entire building had a sort of Rock n' Roll feel to it. Catwalks, dirty floors and a large bar. Perfect. A few girls took notice of them immediately, and Ripper smirked easily, striding confidently towards the bar.

There was an intensity about Ripper which drew girls to him. What was it with some girls and their kink for danger? Whatever it was, it worked often in his favor. As it did tonight. Even more so, when their female entourage discovered that they were a pair of foreigners. The added European mystery was what found them walking back to their new home with a trio of women in tow. Ethan had his arms around two. Ripper, sloshed and stumbling, was leaning against another. She was whispering wonderful things in his ear. If birds were really this bold in the future . . . perhaps it wasn't so bad here after all. His bloody was rising and hunger stirred by the time they reached the front door.

Ripper did not sleep until the sky began to lighten.

* * *

"Ugh. Gross. Giles, get up. Now."

The voice was harsh . . . the light harsher. Ripper groaned, his head pounding and his throat dry as a desert. Swallowing, he nearly choked on his tongue and coughed. The noise of his cough sent pricks of pain into his brain, and he groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. "Giles!" the voice insisted again. "Get up! We have work to do!"

There was movement on his bed, and Ripper moaned in protest, the sheets moving off of him. "Oh my GOD. You're NAKED!? ICK! WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING!?" He was suddenly shoved, and Ripper snorted, lifting his head to blearily peer out at the shrilling voice. His hair was bunched up and sticking out at insane ends and stubble clung to his young face. His eyes were bloodshot . . . and yes, he was entirely naked.

This, obviously, did not bother him, and he merely yawned and rubbed his face. Buffy, he finally realized. That was the one who was screaming. "Can you . . . just . . . not shout?" he asked, yawning and rubbing his head. "What's the bloody time?"

"Way after noon!" Buffy exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. "Are you dressed yet!?"

" . . . No, why should I be?" Ripper asked, yawning and falling onto his back, his hands moving to rub through his head and comb through his hair. "You're in my bloody room. Without knocking. You sort of walk in at your own discretion at that point."

"I was knocking! There was a lot of knocking. A whole _symphony_ of knocking!" Buffy insisted, obviously uncomfortable. "Look, just . . . just put some pants on and come downstairs!" She fled after that, though Ripper was able to watch her the whole way . . . it wasn't like his bedroom really had any walls. It was obvious his older self was a bachelor. He had a loft for a bedroom. There was no privacy here. Speaking of . . . where had that girl gone? What was her name? Linda? No, Amanda. Something "uh" . . . or maybe that had just been from the pleasured grunting. Ripper couldn't exactly remember most of last night. Just that it had been very pleasant.

Where had Ethan gone? He recalled that he had two women. Bloody cad. Ripper finally sat up, his head spinning for a moment. Fuck, he hated hangovers. His foot landed on something wet, and he grunted. Looking down, he saw a used condom and snorted. Well, at least he had been aware enough to do that. Tossing the condom into a trash, he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. Then he grabbed his shirt and put it on whilst walking downstairs. Ethan was looking pleased with himself, sitting on the sofa. "They left this morning," he told Ripper once he was close enough. "The girls. Yours left her number. You dog," he gave a throaty chuckle. "Here," he pushed a green-colored drink towards him. "I found the necessary ingredients for that lovely hangover potion we concocted. Seems you still use them."

Ripper grunted and took the glass, chugging it down. He nearly threw it back up, but he suffered through the brief nausea spell . . . and breathed in sharply when the headache and fog cleared up immediately. "Bloody good potion that," he said, wiping his mouth. Plopping down on the sofa, he stretched his legs out and looked up at Buffy expectantly. "Good morning, princess," he greeted with a smirk. "Need something?"

"Afternoon," she corrected him, her arms crossed over her chest. "You're not even here for a full day, and you're already . . . already . . ." she seemed to sputter on the word.

Ripper lifted his eyebrows. "Shagging?" he helped.

"That! Yes! You're like a typical . . ." she drifted off again.

" . . . Man?" Ripped suggested once more.

"Stupid man, yes!" Buffy said. "Like some hormone-driven, sex-on-the-brains teenager!"

Ripper shared a look with Ethan, then he looked back at Buffy. "Well . . . I mean . . . I am."

"But you're not! I mean . . . you are. But you're not!" She gave a heavy sigh and seemed to crumple, falling back into an armchair. "I just miss . . . fuddy-duddy you. The one who goes 'ew' when one of us talks about sex. You're . . ."

"Different?" Ripper crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I am. Sorry, luv, but your Giles sounds like a right old stick in the mud. I'm much more exciting. And useful. He even thought so, by the sound of it."

Buffy glared at him. "Don't talk about him like that! You don't even know him. Giles was—is—important to me. He was the only one who understood what I was going through for a long time. I could come to him with anything. I can't . . . don't you see? I can't do that anymore. You've taken that from me, or . . . or he has. I don't know. Whatever. I just . . . I wish he was here," she ended quietly.

Ripper was silent for a few minutes. Then he looked over at Ethan. "Leave for a moment, mate," he told him. Ethan nodded, mentioning that he had a morning date anyway and left the house. Leaning forward on his elbows, he looked over Buffy. She had obviously relied on Giles for some sort of emotional support. He knew that the Watcher and Slayer connection was a strong one. He was surprised that he felt a tad bad that he didn't feel that connection. "Buffy," he said, his brow furrowing. "I'm not Giles. Whatever he went through to become the man he did . . . it hasn't happened to me. And I don't want it to. I like the way I am. I'm free for the first time—"

"Since you were ten, I know," Buffy interrupted him. "Giles told me."

Licking his lips, he continued, "I don't want to be a Watcher. And from what I read of Giles' diary, he wasn't even your Watcher anyway. Not right now, at least. And that's something I can work with. I like fighting. I like sex and drinking and drugs. And I've been known to keep a secret now and then," he smirked lightly. "I'm not Giles," he said again. "But that doesn't mean I can't help you. At least for a time."

Buffy kept looking at him, and then looking away. "It's just . . . weird. You have the same eyes. The same green with that little fleck of amber in the left eye. I know them. But everything else is . . . different. And I don't know if I like it yet or not."

Ripper smirked at that. "Too handsome for you, I understand." Buffy rolled her eyes. "Tell you what . . . It'll probably be easier if you consider me as I am now . . . not the man you remember. Because I am never going to measure up to him. I'm a different animal. Do you think you can do that?"

Buffy shifted in the chair, screwing her face up as she looked at him. "I'm going to try. It's not like I can get my Giles back. And I know he's somewhere in there. So . . . there's that." She sighed heavily. "At least I'm sure of one thing. One thing that hasn't changed."

Tilting his head to the side, he looked at her curiously. "What's that?"

"I can still kick your ass."

* * *

The next few weeks had been particularly busy for Ripper. He was constantly pulled from his research with his friends in finding a way home, to give Buffy and the others a hand. Really, their work was much more exciting than just researching. If they weren't staking vampires—and Ripper particularly enjoyed doing that—they were fighting some nasty-looking monster. He even helped them on a scholarly front now and then, recalling a few passages from his Watcher Training about some monsters. For him personally though, he just loved the fight.

He was coming home from a successful fight when he was stopped by Ethan. "You look happy," Ethan said, eyeing him. He didn't look happy.

Ripper snorted, pushing passed him and entering the house. "Dusted five vamps," he said. "All by myself. One got a good punch in, but I tore him to pieces," he smirked, proud of himself. "Buffy got eight, but only because I let her. Tomorrow night, we expect—"

"Ripper," Ethan said sharply, grabbing his shoulder and turning him. "We're not a step closer to returning home. And here you are talking about tomorrow night's adventure. Do you really want to go home?"

He bristled, shoving Ethan's hand off of his shoulder. "Of course I do," he grunted. "What's wrong with enjoying a good fight? Not like we have many of those back home. Everyone's too afraid."

"As they should be. We're Kings there, Ripper," Ethan whispered sharply. "Don't forget that. Here, you're just . . . a Watcher. Chained to the life you wanted to escape." Ripper opened his mouth to protest, but Ethan waved him off. "You're a fucking Watcher. Don't even pretend otherwise. You're working with the Slayer. You're doing everything you said you wanted to be rid of."

"I'm not," Ripper glared at him. "This is my choice. I'm doing it because I want to. And I'm not owned by anybody, least of all the Council." He stepped up to Ethan, his shoulders tense. "You ought to know better than to think I'd ever return to them."

Ethan swallowed, knowing the result of being on the receiving side of one of Ripper's tempers. "Then what are we still doing here?" he whispered. "The others are quiet about it, not wanting to upset you. But they're becoming impatient. We've been here nearly a month, and we're not any closer to a solution. Then Buffy comes along and flashes her eyes, and you run off after her tail tucked between your legs. Where's Ripper, eh? Where's my mate?"

His hands were curling into fists, and his eyes were flashing dangerously. "We'll find a way home. I've been working on it. I haven't changed a bit."

"Oh? Then prove it. Let's go to the Bronze and have a _real_ good time. What do you say? Or are you scared of what Buffy might say?" Ethan pouted.

Ripper growled low, shoving him. "Let's go," he scowled and headed back up the street. Ethan smirked and followed after him. They entered the club. Ripper had a dangerous look in his eye. He drank shot after shot, Ethan chasing after him. Then they started playing pool with a bunch of college boys. They had jocks written all over them. Ripper hated them immediately.

"Come on, Charley. Hit the ball in the hole," Ripper goaded, leaning against his cue. When the jock missed the hole, Ripper snorted. "Bet your girlfriend feels the same sort of disappointment."

"What did you just say?" the jock growled, glaring over at him. "Say that to my face, faggot."

"I thought I did. Or do you speak out of your arse? What do you think, Rayne?" Ripper crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin challengingly.

"Oh, definitely. Best his breath smells like arse, too," Ethan added. Ripper smirked, the alcohol making him angry and stupid. He loved when it did that. The music picked up, some rock anthem that Ripper didn't know the words to. That didn't matter though. The jock and his friends charged. Eagerly, Ripper locked arms with the jock, wrestling and punching. It was strength against strength. Violence against violence. Snarling, Ripper lashed out on the jock, beating him to a pulp whilst taking blows himself. A particularly rough one to his eye sent Ripper reeling back for a moment. He stumbled over a chair and landed on the floor with a grunt.

The jock pinned him down, slamming his head into the floor over and over. Ripper cried out, seeing stars. Ethan was busy somewhere fighting off his own brute. Blindly, Ripper reached up and grabbed the jock's throat, squeezing his windpipe. The jock stopped and clawed at Ripper's hand. "FREEZE!" came shouts, and the jock was dragged away from Ripper. He was pulled up by the hair himself, and he cried out in pain, struggling against the arm that was holding him. "RELAX, OR I'LL MAKE YOU RELAX," was shouted into his ear.

It was obviously the Bobbys. Ripper stopped fighting and simply glared at them. Ethan was sporting a split lip and bloody chin, but he was grinning. It looked rather terrifying, actually. "Good one, Ripper!" he called over to him. Ripper grinned back. He was right. That had been a good fight. Too bad they wouldn't be able to drink or smoke into a stupor afterwards. The police dragged him into a police car and drove him, Ethan and the others to the nearby jail. They were sentence with disorderly conduct and thrown into a cell to cool down. Though they shared a cell with the jocks, they didn't remain there long. The jocks had their rich parents post bail for them, and they were released.

So, it was that Ripper and Ethan laid out on the benches and waited for sunrise. "Surprised you didn't rip that guy's throat out," Ethan said from where he rested. "Wanker deserved it."

"Eh. He's just a tosser. No one special. Not worth killing. Not like the others," Ripper said with a shrug. God, he wished he had a cigarette. Resting his head back against his arms, he stared up at the ceiling. His eye hurt, and he could barely open it. Damn thing was swollen. The rest of his body was sore as well, but Ripper had long since learned to compartmentalize pain. It was there, but he wasn't focusing on it. Instead, he was sorting out the conversation he'd had earlier with Ethan. Was he right? Was he just pretending to look for a way back? Was he really giving it his all? He thought he was. Nothing was really keeping him pinned where he was now, except the promise of a good fight. But that was something he could find in London if he looked hard enough. Ethan was wrong. He wanted to go home. Buffy could survive on her own. She was strong . . . and sexy. _Now hold on there, mate. That's a stray drunken thought if there ever was one. You put that to rest right now. She's your Slayer. And entirely out of reach. Though, that makes it all the more fun . . . No! She's stuck seeing you as her replacement Daddy. Well, some girls have a Daddy kink . . . Bloody hell. I need a wank, obviously._

"There you two are!"

"Buffy!" Ripper gasped guiltily, sitting bolt right up and seeing her glaring at them beyond the bars.

"Yeah, you had better look guilty, Rupert Giles. You too, Ethan Rayne," she was breathing fire. "What the hell were you two thinking!? You're as bad as teenagers! I'm not your mother!"

"What are you doing here?" Ripper asked, pushing himself up and walking towards the bars.

"I'm posting your bail. With your money, by the way," Buffy said, gesturing for the officer to unlock the door. "Let's go, you idiots." Ripper grinned and walked out, following her, Ethan in tow. "Bar fights? Really, Ripper?" Buffy was finally getting into the habit of calling him by his nickname. "God, now I know how my mom feels. I am never misbehaving again."

Ripper threw his arm around Buffy's shoulders. "Thanks for rescuing us, Mum," he teased. Buffy grunted and shoved him away. Laughing, he nearly stumbled into a parked car, but averted it and stumbled after her.

"I am so disgusted by you right now," Buffy glared back at him. "I mean what were you thinking!? How is a little jail time going to help anyone?"

"Oi," Ripper frowned. "It was just a little fight."

"Yeah, I can see that," she eyed his black eye dubiously. When they reached Giles' home, Buffy nodded for Ethan to go ahead. "I need to speak to Ripper. Alone." Ethan frowned, looking between the two of them, but shook his head and walked through the front door, nearly running into the edge of the frame as he did so. Buffy closed the door, then looked at Ripper expectantly, her hands on her hips.

Ripper felt the tension and crossed his arms over his chest, swaying on his feet. "What? Are you going to scold me? Don't bother. I'm older than you. I can do what I want. _You_ don't control me," he told her gruffly.

"Oh yeah, right, older. Definitely proving that tonight," Buffy scoffed. "What the hell, Ripper? Do I have to police you every second of the day? I thought we were working well together. Things were going good. I was even getting used to you . . . and now this?" Ripper frowned, his jaw setting. "I want you to answer me . . . truthfully . . ." She waited a beat. "Did Ethan put you up to this?"

Ripper's brow furrowed at that. "What are you talking about? Put me up to what? I fight when I want to fight," he said.

"I mean who suggested going out?" Buffy asked, looking at him closely. When Ripper didn't answer her, she sighed. "I thought so," she whispered. "Look, Ripper, Ethan is a bad influence. You don't know who he turns into, but he's bad news. He hurts people, innocent people. And he likes it. He even tried to hurt you." Ripper shook his head. "Hush, hang on. I need you to trust me. I know he seems like your buddy right now, but he isn't. He's only interested in himself. His own entertainment and pleasure. I know. The Giles I knew—"

"The Giles you knew is gone," Ripper snapped, his patience gone. "I don't know how many times I have to bloody say it, but it's true. Whatever he did to Ethan or Ethan did to him is gone. There's just me and Rayne. And I know he has my back. He proved that tonight, as he has in any fight we've gotten ourselves into. Whatever happened to cause that rift . . . it's not going to happen with us. Ethan is my brother."

Buffy finally burst, "it's the Mark of Eyghon."

Ripper's eyes narrowed, feeling the tattoo on his arm prickle. "What?"

"Ripper, listen to me. During one of your Summonings with Eyghon, it goes wrong. Randall is killed, and you swear off magic. It's what drives you back to the Watcher's Council. Away from Ethan. He sticks with the Dark Arts, becomes a follower of Chaos. You become a hero of the innocent . . . and he becomes their enemy."

Ripper was at a loss of words. Randall? Eyghon? It was too much for him to work through, especially with the alcohol still making his brain fuzzy. "Buffy—"

"I know it's difficult to imagine. But it happened. Ripper, they all die. Every one of them, except Ethan. Eyghon comes back and kills them all. They don't have versions here because they all died a couple of years ago. If you follow the course Ethan is setting, it will happen all over again. Just . . . just be careful with him, alright? You're better than he is," Buffy told him.

Ripper was still processing, but he nodded. Buffy touched his arm, then left down the street. Ripper watched her go, his mind turning over and over with this new information. Everyone was dead? Because of Eyghon? But they hadn't even Summoned him once yet. And Ethan was a little exuberant in his pursuit of pleasure, perhaps, but he never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. Ripper shook his head. Different realities. Different Ethan. Entering the house at last, Ethan looked him over suspiciously. "What did she want?" he asked, fixing them both cold packs for their wounds.

Taking the pack made for him, he placed it over his eye with a hiss. "Nothing much. Just a proper scolding," he smirked. Ethan snorted and nodded, eased. Ripper left for upstairs and sank into his bed, holding the pack to his eye. He frowned up at the ceiling, working through the conflicting feelings and thoughts. At some point, exhaustion—or the alcohol—claimed him, and he passed out.

When he woke, it was to find Ethan looking at him at the foot of his bed, an alarmed look on his face. It wasn't often that Ethan looked this way, so Ripper woke almost immediately, despite the lingering pain he was in. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Something's happening," Ethan said immediately. "It's Buffy . . . She's evil."


	4. A Trick or Treat?

Author's Note: Since it's Halloween, I thought I'd give a little treat: an early Ripper chapter! Enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

* * *

"What are you on about, Rayne? Buffy is what _stops_ the evil," Ripper grunted, changing into a fresh set of clothes for the day. His head was still pounding from the double-whammy he had received the night before. Well, triple whammy if he counted Buffy's punch into his confidence regarding Ethan. Running his fingers through his hair, he leaned against the railing of the loft, looking down at the sitting room. Randall and Thomas had taken quite a liking to the TV. They'd found something called HBO. Deirdre and Philip were busy canoodling together on the sofa. Though they all helped in the research of the monsters Buffy hunted, Ripper only allowed them long-range offensive maneuvers. They were getting restless . . . he knew it.

Ethan stood beside him, resting his arms on the railing as well. "While you've been playing the hero with the Slayer, I've been working on getting us home," Ethan said. "I've held vigils with some friends. They couldn't exactly give me any clue as to how return to our proper time, and that was if I could even get them to talk to me at all. They're scared." Ripper knew Ethan was talking about demons. It probably should have perturbed him . . . it didn't. Ethan was smart. He knew how to shut a demon do. The Dark Arts were a force they had been dealing with for some time. They knew what they were doing. "They keep saying the same thing . . . 314. It's a bad place, Ripper. I mean it has to be if it has demons shaking in their little hoof-shaped booties."

"Great, demons are scared," Ripper pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. "What does this have to do with Buffy?"

"314 has something to do with The Initiative. They're the ones who have the demons fleeing Sunnydale. And, apparently, your Buffy is working with them." Ethan looked at him expectantly. Ripper shrugged a shoulder. "Think, you twit! If demons are scared, then something bad is happening there, and your Slayer is in the middle of it."

"Right, or they're scared because this Initiative and Buffy are actually kicking their arses," Ripper pointed out, flicking a bit of ash off of his cigarette.

"Maybe," Ethan conceded. His voice dropped, "but I'm the one talking to these guys. It's a different sort of terror." Ethan leaned in. "Look, just be on your guard. Maybe your Slayer isn't all she appears to be."

Ripper eyed him, the look a near-glare. Ethan shrugged and held his hands up. "I'll ask her about it. See if she knows anything." Ethan nodded. Ripper pushed away from the railing and headed downstairs. Buffy was only one place if she wasn't here—at her college dorm. Getting into the old beater his older self called a car, he drove for the college. He was getting pretty tired of this manipulation. Buffy was telling him one thing, pointing fingers, and then Ethan was telling him another, pointing fingers as well. What happened to the bloody simplicity of sex, drugs and rock n' roll?

Arriving at her university, Ripper got out and smoothed out his leather jacket. Tapping his cigarette against the car mirror, he checked his hair again, then walked onto campus. He collected a few stares as he went. Entering the dormitory that he knew Buffy and Willow shared, he walked up to their floor. "Hey, there's no smoking in this building!" someone called after him, but he ignored them. Scanning the door numbers, he stopped outside of Buffy's and knocked.

There was a pause—and what sounded like a scuffle—before the door opened and a breathless Buffy appeared. "Ripper. What . . . what are you doing here?" she asked, looking flushed and trying to straighten her hair.

Ripper lifted an eyebrow and pushed the door open wider, looking in to find . . . a young man in her bed. "Ohhh," he smirked around his cigarette, giving her a teasing look. "I interrupted. Well, I'm sorry about that, mate," he said to the man, but walked into the room, anyway. "Need to talk, Slayer," he said. "Oops," he paused, "suppose that was a secret."

Buffy gave an irritated sigh and closed the door, muttering, "gee, come in. Make yourself at home." She crossed her arms over her chest and didn't look at the man. "He knows. So, let's get to business."

"Not going to introduce us, luv?" Ripper asked, his hands resting at his hips. "Rude. No matter. I'll do it for you." He turned to the man, who was clearly trying to put something on underneath the covers. "Don't worry about decency, mate. A willy's a willy. I'm Ripper. Buffy's Watcher."

"Oh, so _now_ you're my Watcher?" Buffy rolled her eyes, walking over to the bed and picking up the man's pants, handing it to him.

"'Course. Once a Watcher always a Watcher. And as your Watcher, I must _watch_ out for you. Now, who are you?" Ripper asked, his chest puffing out just a little in a subtle display of dominance. Buffy rolled her eyes again. Once the man had put on his jeans, he got out of the bed and walked over to Ripper, his arm extended. "Yeah, you can stop right there. I'm not shaking your hand. I may not care about seeing nudity, but I don't touch bodily fluids of another man. Sorry, mate."

"But I didn't . . . we didn't-"

"Ohhh," Ripper gave him a sympathetic look, "trouble with the plumbing, eh? Well, I happen to know a good warlock. He'll—"

"Oh my GOD. Stop!" Buffy shouted. "Ripper, this is Riley. My boyfriend. Riley, this is Ripper . . . younger . . . Giles person. That whole mess I told you about." Riley nodded in understanding.

Ripper gaped, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips, "mess!? I beg your pardon, but I'm doing pretty damn well with your little crusade! And, more importantly, I don't have issues with my plumbing." He grinned at that, chuckling to himself.

"Ugh! I don't need . . . Got that, you know, when you were all . . . nudist colony in your bed! Without the warning sign, I might add!" Buffy shouted back.

"Wait, you saw him . . . naked?" Riley asked, a look of confusion on his face. "When was this? Where was I?"

"I don't need warning signs, it's my bed!" Ripper argued back. "If I want to have an orgy in it, I will! You're not my mother!"

"And you're not my father! If I want to have an orgy with Riley—whose plumbing is fantastic, I might add—I will!" Buffy declared triumphantly.

Riley looked between the two, slowly itching his head. "So . . . I think I should go."

"-Yes," Ripper agreed.

"-No," Buffy protested at the same time. "Stay. Whatever Ripper wants to say, he can say with you here."

Ripper could tell there would be no arguing this one, so he took a deep drag of his cigarette and shrugged. "Yeah, alright. The Initiative. What do you know about it?"

"Uhh," Riley cleared his throat. "That's more my turf, actually. What do you want to know?"

Ripper blinked. "Ohhhh. Interesting." He leaned back against the desk behind him, sitting on the edge of it. "What is it? What does it do?"

Riley's persona seemed to change immediately. A soldier stood before Ripper now. "The Initiative's mission is to detain and—if possible—rehabilitate demons to protect the human race. We capture sometimes in order to study what we're up against and design weapons and combat techniques to better terminate them. We are militarily funded and coordinated."

"Hm." Ripper considered that. An organization designed to eliminate demons. He could understand why that would make a demon fear the Initiative . . . but he didn't understand why Ethan was so worked up about it. "Do you know anything about . . . 314?"

Riley' brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything to me."

"Hmm," he said again, the cogs in his head slowly turning. Well then. Only one way to get to the heart of the matter. Pushing himself up after snagging some of Buffy's hair from her hairbrush on her desk, he stealthily slid it into his back pocket and cast a quick eye around. "And you, Buffy? You're part of this . . . Initiative?"

"Only recently," Buffy replied. "I was going to tell you, I just . . . never got around to it."

Ripper nodded, slowly circumventing towards the bed. "And what do you think of it?"

There was a hesitation, and then Buffy spoke. "Seems pretty clean to me. I went down there earlier. Got all clearanced up. Very Bond-like. And they're good," she smiled up at Riley. "At what they do. I think together, we can really clean up this town."

Ah, there we go. Ripper casually removed his leather jacket and draped it over Buffy's bed. Taking an interest in some of the posters on the wall, he was silent for a few moments. "Who leads it?" he asked.

"Well, there's numerous tiers," Riley said, "but Professor Walsh, I would say, is one—if not the—top head. She's a Professor here. Psychology."

"Ohhh, so she's good at manipulation. Excellent," Ripper nodded, turning away and looking back at them. Riley looked quite offended by that statement. "Calm down, soldier. I'm sure she's a lovely bird." Well, this had taken up enough of his time. He reached down for his jacket, his fingers drifting over the pillow as he did so, snagging some small hairs—Riley hairs—and slipped them into his jacket pocket as he put it on. "Well then. Best be on my way."

"What? That's all you came here for?" Buffy demanded. "Couldn't have called or something?"

Ripper headed back for the door. "I prefer face-to-face interactions. Better to tell if someone's lying," he replied easily. "Though I could stay, if you wanted a third party member," he paused, grinning at her naughtily.

"ICK. OUT! OUT!" Buffy shoved him out of the room, Ripper chuckling all the while. The door closed sharply behind him, and he smiled at it, shaking his head. Checking to make sure his collection was still in place, he left the dormitory.

* * *

The sound of the cauldron bubbling was, sadly, not enough to drone out Ethan's railing. "Why do _I_ have to be Buffy!?" he asked for the twentieth time. "Why not take Deirdre? She already has the parts."

Ripper added one last ingredient, then stirred, watching the color closely. "Because, simply put, I trust you more than Deirdre to have my back. I need someone who can hold their own in a fight if this goes sideways. Besides," he grinned over at him, "you're such a champion of women. Perhaps you'll gain some actual insight by being one for a few hours. Now hush, or else you'll mess me up, and we'll both end up transforming into fleas or something."

"I'd rather a flea over Buffy," Ethan grunted, but he left the kitchen to join the others in the sitting room. Ripper shook his head, smirking lightly. He stirred clockwise six and a half times, then let it simmer. Grabbing some mugs, he spooned a healthy helping into each. The potion was thick and a deep purple, precisely what the book asked for it to be. Nothing like a bit of alchemy and magic. Ripper took the hairs out of his pockets and murmured quietly, "Factus. Reformabit. Factus." The liquid thinned and turned a light blue in color as he added the hairs. "Alright, Rayne. We're up."

With a sigh he heard all the way in the kitchen, Ethan reemerged and took the mug from him. "You owe me," Ethan told him seriously, then chugged the contents down. Ripper did the same, the liquid hot but not unpleasant. "Mm," Ethan swallowed and licked his lips. "That was actually rather pleasant. Was that mint?"

"Never understood why potions need to taste awful," Ripper smirked with a shrug. "My own little magic." But then it hit. Ripper grunted and fell to the floor as his body convulsed and ached. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and goosebumps popping all over his skin. He heard Ethan grunting and gasping somewhere beside him, but he was too focused on his own nausea and pain to care. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it vanished. Panting, he opened his eyes and looked down. Well . . . he was tanner. Pushing himself up, he touched his face and hair. Shorter hair . . . no earring . . . Looking at his arm, he saw the Mark had been removed as well. Hold on, last test. His hand sank into his jeans and grabbed himself . . . yup, definitely someone else's body, poor lad.

Looking up, he saw . . . Buffy. Ethan was stuck staring down at his own chest. "Ripper . . . this is the bloody oddest spell you've ever performed," he murmured. He gave a little jiggle, then grinned up at him. "I like it!" Laughing, he slapped his hand against Ripper—now Riley's—shoulder. "Oi, I wonder if I obtained Slayer strength with the form." Ethan-Buffy walked to the counter.

"Oi, no-!" Ripper called out, but he was too late. Ethan slammed his fist into the counter . . . and the counter remained as it were, Ethan swearing loudly instead and holding his hand. "Oh. Good. Serves you right. That's my bloody counter, you can't destroy _my_ property."

"You gave me tits. I can bloody do what I please," Ethan protested, rubbing his hand. "So, they're just flesh-costumes then. We still maintain our own natural gifts. Right. So," he scratched his head . . . well, Buffy scratched her head. "We need a change of clothes. Pretty sure Buffy wouldn't be caught dead in this get-up." He nodded to Ripper. "And I doubt soldier boy sports the Union Jack."

Ripper looked down at himself. Clothes. Right. "Alright. We'll swing by Buffy's dorm again. I'm sure Riley has some clothes there. Come on."

They pit-stopped at Buffy's dorm, picking the lock to gain entry. Thankfully, it was empty, and they snatched a set of clothes each before changing and heading out. "Now, we need to find the entrance to the Initiative. Tracker spell?" Ripper suggested.

"I'm on it," Ethan-Buffy said. He snatched some of Ripper-Riley's hair, much to some protesting, and then murmured an incantation. The hair dissolved and turned into a ball of light. "Off we go!" The two followed it, ducking through some students and bushes until stopped near a tree, the ball of light just hovering. "Hm. Well, I don't _see_ a door anywhere."

Ripper-Riley scratched his huge jaw. "Well, it's here somewhere. God! It is so odd to hear an American accent coming out of me. I sound so . . . flat. Like a damned cowboy."

Ethan-Buffy snorted. "Wait, hold on. Put your hands on your hips." Ripper-Riley did so, and Ethan nodded. "Yup, thought so. You remind me of Captain America. That's who you are. Bloody Steve Rogers!" A miserable groan left Ripper-Riley's lips, and he pushed Ethan-Buffy irritably. "Oi, you can't push me! I'm a girl!" Ethan-Buffy protested.

"Yeah right you are," Ripper-Riley scoffed. "Could you have chosen the sleaziest outfit?" he gestured to the clothes Ethan had chosen to wear—a black skirt and loose red blouse.

"Hey. I figured I might as well make the most of this experience," Ethan-Buffy defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest and actually looking very much like Buffy.

All of a sudden, the ground trembled and opened up in front of them like a giant flap. Ripper-Riley stared wide-eyed as two men walked out. "Riley, there you are. Walsh wants to see you down below. Better hurry. She's in one of her intense moods," the black one told them.

"Uh," Ripper-Riley blinked, "right. On that. God Bless America . . . and all that." He nodded for Ethan-Buffy to follow him and walked down the hole to find an . . . entrance. "Well, I wasn't expecting that," he murmured quietly, watching the top close.

"Come on. We only have another hour or so for this transformation spell to last," Ethan-Buffy reminded him. They hurried down the hall, finding themselves in a sterile, white-faced . . . facility. Scientists and other lab coats rushed to and fro. Soldiers were running by in their uniforms, obviously drilling. There were even a few military cars driving here and there, though Ripper couldn't imagine what they were doing with those. This place was . . . top-of-the-line. Definitely a far cry from the books at his house.

"Alright," Ripper-Riley pulled his gaze from the impressive sight, "we need to split up. Cover more ground. Meet back here in a half hour. I'll take East Wing, you take West." Ethan-Buffy nodded, and they both hurried their separate ways. Ripper-Riley walked quickly across the main room, keeping his head ducked down. A few people saluted him, and he gestured something or other back. Reaching the hall, he slipped down and started looking into the rooms. They were numbered. He was on two hundred and three. He needed to climb a level. Walking to the end of the hall, he saw a sign for stairs to the next level. Just as he reached the door, Buffy walked. Buffy-Buffy. She was wearing a blue tank and sweatpants. "Ohhh," he said smartly, feeling the encroaching scolding coming on. _You're screwed, mate. She's going to cook you._

Instead, Buffy hopped over to him and beamed up at him. "I thought you were headed down to training. Thought I'd beat your butt again," she grinned.

"Uhh—" Ripper-Riley tried to think of something to say.

"No, no. I get it," Buffy smirked, her fingers dancing against his chest, "you missed me." She hopped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Ripper-Riley's eyes shot open wide. _Oh. Um. Right. Well, the proper thing to do . . . Ah, bugger it._ Ripper-Riley grabbed her around the waist and tugged her tight against him. Buffy made a noise of surprise against his lips, but it turned into a pleasant hum as he kissed her back. Her little tongue boldly swept over his lip before capturing it with her teeth and tugging it. Ripper-Riley released a low growl, electricity sparking in his gut. Buffy pulled back, looking up at him in amusement. "Did you just _growl?_ " She laughed. "Well, that's a first. Alright, Wolf-Boy. I'll see you down in training. Don't be late." Buffy tapped his chest, then went on her merry way down the hall. "And bring more of those smoochies!" she called before turning the corner.

Ripper-Riley, his lips still parted, watched her until she disappeared from view. "Woof," he said finally, then ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he collected himself. "Right. Not good." Clearing his throat, he did his very best to push that ground-shaking experience from his mind and focused on the task at hand. Opening the door, he finally headed upstairs to the next level. He passed by another lab-coat, trying not to look suspicious, and then exited onto the third floor. Ripper-Riley scanned the room numbers as he passed. 307. 310. He quickened his pace and stopped dead in front of it. 314. It had one of those "don't you dare think about entering here, it's super top secret" signs, but he ignored that. His main concern was the key pad . . . it needed a card to unlock. "Fuck," he swore, stepping back and scratching the back of his neck.

"Agent Finn," came a woman's voice. "I was looking for you." Ripper-Riley looked up to see a short blond-haired woman in a lab coat walking up to him. Taking a quick look at her nametag, he learned that this was _the_ Professor Walsh. _Of course, of all the people to run into, it's her. Something tells me, this one won't end in a quick snog. Oi! Nope. That didn't happen. Blissful ignorance of Buffy's lips. Though, it was quite—NO._ Ripper-Riley cleared his throat, forcing a smile on his face. "You alright?" Walsh looked over him.

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I . . . I heard you were looking for me?" Ripper-Riley said, trying to look as casual as he could.

"Yes," Walsh eyed him for a moment. "But first . . ." She placed her hand on his arm. "Are you sure you're alright, Riley?" she asked, her tone familiar. Ripper-Riley's eyebrows shot up. Oh no. He knew that tone. He knew an interested female when he met one. Did Riley's boss have a thing for young men? _Naughty girl._ But hey. He could use that.

Clearing his throat, Ripper-Riley shook his head. "Just had a lot on my mind lately," he said, leaning into her. _Body language, body language._

"Oh? Walsh frowned, placing the clipboard she had been holding under her arm. "What about? . . . Problems with Buffy?" she asked.

"Hm," Ripper-Riley nodded. "Just a lot of stuff going on right now. She . . . she said some things. That there might be more going on here than everyone is saying." He looked up at Walsh, eyes wide . . . vulnerable. "I didn't believe her, of course. I know you'd trust me with anything. Just like I trust you." Ripper-Riley watched Walsh's face soften. _And got her._

"She's . . . not wrong. We have been keeping something from you . . . but only until the time was right." She took his arm in her hand, pulling him towards 314. "Which I think is now." Walsh's grip tightened. "But you can't tell Buffy. She wouldn't understand. This stays between us." And she placed her hand against Ripper-Riley's chest. "Do you understand me?"

Ripper-Riley deliberately licked his lips, staring at hers. "Crystal clear, Ma'am." She smiled and stepped back, unhooking her card from her belt and swiping it. The door clicked, and she opened it, letting them inside. Ripper-Riley found himself in a small room . . . an operating room of sorts. On a gurney rested a body—the most hideous body he had ever seen. It was man . . . and monster and machine. It was worse than the Frankenstein Monster.

"Don't be afraid," Walsh said behind him. "He isn't finished just yet . . . but he will be soon." She moved past Ripper and stood close to the abomination. "He's my creation," she said quietly. "Adam. A super soldier. With him in the field, I'll be able to keep you safe . . . you and the rest of the world." Walsh turned, smiling . . . but then froze. "Who are you!?" she demanded. Ripper felt his heart freeze in his chest. "Where did Riley . . . " Ripper reached for his face, longer hair, stubble, earring. Fuck. He was back.

"SECURITY!" Walsh shouted, her hand slamming on a button in the wall. Red lights started strobing, sirens wailing.

"SECURITY!"

 _Fuck._


	5. A Ripper Rescue

_That sodding fool. I ought to break ties with him. It's clear where you're headed in his life, Rayne. Ripper is becoming more the Watcher every day. He doesn't have time for fun and games anymore. Doesn't have time for you. All he wants is his Slayer and to fight demons. Fight them! Instead of use them to our advantage. God, I miss the old Ripper. At least he knew how to have a good time. Last bloody time I let him convince me to try one of his potions. All work in a bird's body and no time for play._ Ethan Rayne was fuming. As soon as the alarms had gone off, he high-tailed it out of the underground facility just in time. Though he had escaped before the appearance spell had worn off, he was now stuck walking back to the house in a blouse and skirt. It would have been amusing if he wasn't so worried about Ripper.

His friend had failed to meet up with him, and he could only conclude that Ripper had gotten himself caught. "Big idiot," he muttered. But he had gotten Ripper mixed up in this business in the first place. They'd been looking for 314. He wasn't sure if Ripper had found it, but his own search had proven to be fruitless. Ethan arrived on the street and dodged from house to house, trying to keep out of sight. He was a relatively tall bloke, and the skirt was riding up his arse. His plan was set. He'd enlist Dierdre, Philip, Thomas and Randall, and they'd infiltrate the Initiative anew and rescue Ripper. The old team back together. Just how it was supposed to be.

Dodging one last passersby, he dove into the house and slammed the door behind him. "What. Are. You. Wearing?" he heard immediately. Turning his head, he saw Buffy standing in the sitting room, Riley at her side. "Is that _mine!?"_ Buffy stomped up to him, gaping at the blouse and skirt that were, clearly, hers. "Is this some sick joke? Please, tell me it's a joke, and that this has never happened before, nor ever will again."

Ethan, knowing quite well that the jig was up, faced her bravely. "I'll have you know that this is far more painful for me, than it is for you." He winced, "it pinches. This is clearly not meant for someone with three legs."

"GROSS. Get it off. Now!" Buffy demanded. "And don't you dare tear it. That cost me seven week's worth of chores!"

Ethan dove into the bathroom after snatching his clothes, gladly changing. He returned and held the outfit out towards Buffy. "I suppose I ought to explain then." Buffy didn't even grace that with an answer. "Well, don't get all pissy with me. It was Ripper's idea." Her eyebrow nearly flew off of her face. "It's true! Look, I told him some funny business had been happening in the demon world. We're pen-pals, you see. Anyway, they're all terrified of this thing . . . 314 . . . in _your_ Initiative," he pointed to Riley. "So, Ripper decided a bit of covert work was needed. Just be glad I got your body. There was only a bit of fondling, and that was simply because I failed to grab a bra on the way out. How you women do it," he shook his head. "Anyway, they caught Ripper. His transformation spell must have worn off, and they caught him."

Buffy blinked. "Wait a moment . . . If you were transformed as me, who was Ripper transformed as?"

"Your man Riley here," Ethan nodded to him. Buffy's eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to her lips. "What?" Ethan frowned at her.

"N-nothing," Buffy waved him off. Riley was giving her a confused look as well. "Nothing. We just . . . we need to get him out, obviously. Though you should have both just asked me or Riley about it. It's not like we don't know what's going on there. Right, Riley?"

Riley rested his hands on his hips. "I'm . . . not familiar with 314. It doesn't mean anything to me."

"And I wonder why that might be?" Ethan smirked. "You don't suppose . . . say . . . that they are keeping things from you?"

A look of offense and anger appeared on Riley's face. "I'm their top agent. They trust me explicitly. And if they are keeping something classified, then it's for a reason."

"Mm. A naughty reason," Ethan nodded, then grunted when Riley grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, glaring at him. "Easy there, Cap. You'll endanger that flawless American hero thing you've got going on. Don't want to dirty your hands."

Buffy pushed them apart. "Riley, stop. We don't know anything. The Initiative might be keeping things secret for a good reason, too." Ethan gave her a look, and she bit her lip. "Or . . . or maybe we should rescue Ripper and find out." Ethan nodded. "Alright, fine. Riley, you and I—"

"I can't do this, Buffy," Riley said, looking uncomfortable. "If your friend is captured for snooping into something he isn't supposed to, then that was his choice. That's what happens when you meddle into private affairs. I believe in the Initiative. I believe that what they're doing is right. I can't help you bust out a criminal."

Buffy looked shocked. "He's not just a friend, Riley. That's my Watcher. And, as much as I hate to admit it, Ethan is right." Ethan looked quite smug. "We should be asking questions. Not just blindly saying yes to orders."

"I thought you believed in the Initiative, Buffy," Riley said, an accusatory look in his eyes and tone.

Buffy blinked at him. "I do. I believe in putting an end to demons who want to hurt people . . . but I also know that when it comes to military affairs, there's often more than meets the eye. Stay here, Riley. We'll handle this ourselves," she pushed past Riley, Ethan noticing that she looked quite upset.

Looking up at the soldier, Ethan patted his arm. "There, there, mate. Just sing the National Anthem, and I'm sure you'll feel better." The murderous look in Riley's eye made Ethan duck out quickly after Buffy, and they made their way to the Initiative's facility.

* * *

The taste of blood was still fresh on his tongue. It was almost difficult to swallow due to its thickness. Ripper spat out a glob of it onto the floor, then pushed himself up and against the wall. He was in a white-washed cell, though the steel bars that made up the door were familiar. The single light above him was too bright. Ripper grunted, rubbing his head. He tried piecing together all that had happened. He'd saw the creature Walsh had been making. Then he'd pushed past her and tried to make it down the hall, but a whole army had ran him down. At least he had gotten a good fight in before they'd knocked him out.

After that, the fun had really started. They seemed to think he was working for someone, likely due to his accent. As if he were some sort of James Bond. He had no idea if Ethan had gotten out, and he didn't want the Initiative to go after Buffy, so he kept a tight lip . . . and had that lip beaten into over and over again. It sounded like his next bit of fun was on the way, judging by the footsteps. Ripper groaned, closing his eyes and resting back against the wall. "Alright, English. Let's see if you feel like talking now." Two big-types opened his cell and entered. They were dressed in the same uniform the rest of the Initiative soldiers were dressed in.

Ripper gave a little wave. His movements were awkward, due to the handcuffs cutting into his skin. They were raw and itched like mad whenever the metal brushed against them. "Hullo, gentlemen," he greeted them, his voice hoarse. "Back for more? You must love hearing a bloke scream." That earned him his first punch, right into the ear. Ripper grunted and groaned, his head whipped to the side.

"No more funny business, English." His interrogator picked him up by the front of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet. "Who do you work for? Who sent you here?"

Ripper grinned, his teeth bloody. "Your mum. I work for her, alright. Whenever she wants me. We were supposed to meet up here and have a right good time in your room—oof!" he had the wind knocked out of him by the next punch, which was aimed at his stomach. Ripper choked, nearly feeling as though he were about to vomit.

"He thinks he's a comedian," the interrogator laughed, looking back at the other guy, who was guarding the door. "How's this for funny? You're going to be here for a very long time. And you have nothing but fun to look forward to. Tomorrow, I'm going to introduce you to some of my toys. Unless, of course, you decide to start talking. Then you can go home."

Ripper saw something moving behind the interrogator. The interrogator seemed to notice it as well and started to turn. "Fine!" Ripper said quickly. "I'll tell you what you want to know. I won't be subjected to your perverted sex toys. Only one person can play that sort of game with me," he paused . . . and then smirked, "and she's standing right behind you." Buffy had suffocated the man at the door into unconsciousness and now stood just behind his interrogator.

"Hi," Buffy smiled, then quickly glared, "only I can beat up my Watcher."

"Hullo, darling," Ripper gave a sort-of-wave, but then was dropped to the floor. Grunting in pain, he watched as Buffy knocked the guy out in two moves. He was snoring beside Ripper, a large welt growing on his forehead already. Watching Buffy search him for keys, he smirked and asked, "come to snog me again?"

Buffy glared at him. "Do you want me to save you? Because leaving you in this cell is suddenly looking very appealing." Ripper chuckled and remained silent as she grabbed the keys and unlocked his handcuffs. Leaning against her, he walked out into the hall and saw Ethan, Xander and Willow.

"Aww. Isn't this sweet? Whole gang is here to rescue me. Don't I feel the damsel in distress?" Ripper tried standing on his own, but his foot was messed up, and Buffy quickly pulled him back against her. "I see you're back to your ugly mug, Rayne," he teased as he walked by Ethan, who took his other arm and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"You're one to talk. You went from square-jawed, blue-eyed teenaged girl wet dream to a mop," Ethan shot back. "A bloody mop, at that. Shite, Ripper."

He shook his head. "All in a day's work, honestly. And I didn't even—" and he passed out shortly after that, slumping between the two of them, his body giving out.

* * *

A stinging sensation against his face brought Ripper back to full awareness, waking with a gasp. "Easy there, tiger," Buffy said, "nearly done." She was dabbing something onto his face.

Ripper relaxed, resting back against the . . . bed. He was in bed. His foot was already bandaged up, and his shirt was off, bandages wrapped around his ribs. "Should have joined up with you a long time ago, Slayer," he said. "Fights just fall right in your lap."

Buffy gave him a look. "I didn't ask you to go undercover for me. You should have just asked me. I could have handled it."

"What, asked your boyfriend? Sometimes, being too close to something or someone makes us rather blind to their faults, Buffy," Ripper told her, bluntly. "Besides, this was Watcher stuff. No one needed slaying. Only information. Isn't that my gig?"

Buffy sighed, pressing the small bandages against his forehead and cheekbone. "Yeah, well. Not being tortured over it. You need to be careful. I get that you're in the whole 'burn down the world, fuck me up if you can' stint, but you're part of something bigger now. You have responsibilities."

He made a face at that. "I don't want responsibilities." Ripper reached for his pack of cigarettes. It felt like a lifetime since he had last had one. Lighting his fag, he dragged and relaxed once more. "I agreed to help you. That's just out of kindness and boredom. Not duty. I'm not really your Watcher, luv. Just a—"

"Just a what?" Buffy snapped, looking him in the eye. "Because you keep saying you're not my Watcher . . . and if you really believed that, I think you'd have found a way back to your little time zone a long time ago. So, what is it? Hm? What are you?"

Ripper stared at her for a long moment, a beat between them. The tension suddenly transformed. All it took was for his eyes to drop to her lips. An outside force seemed to suck them closer, his heart started thumping in his chest. He moved his chin ever so slightly towards her, the blood pounding in his ears. He saw her lips part . . . almost felt the breath that was released from her lungs. As if she had sensed the change, she quickly looked away. ". . . A friend," Ripper said, finally. "A friend who snogs really well," he added with a smirk.

Buffy glared back at him. "Can we not talk about that? I thought you were Riley. It meant nothing. I wouldn't have done it if I had known it was you wearing Riley makeup."

"No?" Ripper glanced at her, smiling lightly. "No, I don't suppose you would have. You look at me and you see an old man. A father figure. You don't see . . . _me._ " Ripper shrugged a shoulder. "Which is fine," he blew out some smoke. "Don't need you to, anyway. Not as though I fancy you or anything."

"No?" Buffy scoffed, wrapping the last bandages around his wrists. "Care to say that to the moony eyes? Or the fact that you're so eager to stick around and slay with me?"

Ripper scoffed right back. "I don't have moony eyes. My eyes are perfectly un-moony. And I told you, I help you out because I'm bored. Certainly _not_ because you have a nice little arse that bounces about the graveyard in a very appealing manner."

"Hey! You are not allowed to look at my arse . . . ass . . . whatever!" Buffy huffed. "You keep your eyes to yourself, Mister. I mean it."

"Why?" Ripper smirked, removing his cigarette from his mouth and dangling it between his fingers. "Makes you uncomfortable, does it? Because, deep down," he leaned forward, "you know you like the attention." He saw her stiffen and felt a brief moment of victory . . . followed by confusion and annoyance. He didn't fancy her. If anything, he just wanted a good shag. Once she was out of his system, he'd be able to forget her. Just like all the other girls. Just because he thought her extremely attractive, found her nonsensical blathering adorable and thoroughly enjoyed that she could whip him good, did not mean he fancied her. No.

"Not from you," Buffy said firmly. "So you can just get over that little crush right now." She stood, collecting the first aid supplies and walking towards the stairs with a straight back.

"It's not a crush!" Ripper exclaimed irritably. "But think about it!" he called after her. "Who is better suited for you? Soldier-boy or someone who shares your destiny and knows exactly what you're going through?" Buffy didn't even bother to stop. She walked downstairs, and then left the house. Ripper grunted and shook his head. Didn't matter. Bugger her. She was just any other girl. Ripper took a long drag from his cigarette, sinking back into his bed. So then . . . why did his body hum where she had touched it? ' _Because you were injured there, you dolt. So you've fought side-by-side with her for a month, who cares? That doesn't mean you have 'moony eyes.' She's bedlam. You just feel connected to her because she's your Slayer, and Watchers and Slayers always share some sort of connection. That's all it is. That, mixed with a case of you're a randy wanker who likely enjoys sex more than he ought to.'_ Ripper snorted at that, blowing some smoke out around him. _'Sex is fantastic though. Can't be blamed for that . . . Buffy would be fantastic at shagging . . . All that Slayer strength . . .'_ Ripper rolled his eyes at himself. It was obvious he needed to pick up a girl soon. He was getting ridiculous. _'Still though . . . that was one hell of a kiss . . .'_


	6. Oops

"Ripper, duck!" he heard just before a heavy fist collided with his jaw. He grunted and fell to the ground, staggering. "Ooo. Sorry!" Ripper sent a glare towards the Slayer's way before pushing himself back up and getting into a fighting position.

"I've only recently been on the mend, Buffy! Could you at least give me a bit more warning than that?" Ripper grunted, kicking the vampire into the chest. "Some of us don't have cat-like reflexes." He managed to block a punch aimed for his forehead, pushing the vampire off and tackling him to the ground.

"Oh no, you're all dog. That's for sure," Buffy shot back, dusting the vampire she was facing off with before another danced in front of her. She aimed low, sweeping his feet and staking him quickly as well. "How are you doing over there?" she asked, perching up on a tombstone and watching Ripper wrestle with the vampire on the ground.

"Bloody . . . lovely," Ripper grunted, his arms locked with the vampire's. He was very aware of Buffy just watching. "This fiend is trying to play dirty though. He's gone for the willy twice now. Does no one fight with honor anymore?" Panting heavily, he felt his arms shaking from the exertion.

"Watch out, Ripper, they've found your secret weakness. You're useless without your willy," Buffy teased, moving towards the vampire's head. "Want me to finish him? I think you guys have cuddled long enough."

"One, let's leave the willy out of this. Two, this is a matter of pride. I'll finish him," Ripper grunted, his teeth grit. He was panting hard, the vampire's arms shaking as well.

"Really, I'm right here. The Slayer. It's what I do," Buffy said, bored, tossing a stake between her hands.

Ripper gave an irritated growl. "Fuck this," he swore, "Incendere!" Flames burst from his palms, igniting the vampire immediately. The vampire threw him off, and Ripper grunted as hit the ground, scrambling away from the burning body as the vampire fought to stop the flames engulfing him. Buffy hurried to his side and helped him up. Together, sweaty and panting, they watched the vampire dissolve into dust. The fire magically disappeared as well afterwards, leaving nothing behind but ash. Ripper straightened, running his hand through his hair. "Well. I ought to start with that, I think."

"How did you do that?" Buffy asked, blinking in surprise. "That was like . . . super magic. I didn't know you could do that!"

Ripper looked quite pleased with himself, leaning towards her, his hand resting on his hip. "Yeah, I'm full of surprises, luv. Just haven't really let loose with the magicks as of late. That one had it coming though. Tosser didn't even buy me dinner before going for a grab." He straightened his leather jacket, then looked her over. "You want to grab a drink?" he asked her.

Buffy looked him over. "No," she said finally. "I don't . . . think that's a good idea. I'll see you tomorrow, Ripper. Get some rest."

Ripper gave a small smile and nodded. "Always a pleasure, Buffy. Oh," he raised his voice, making her stop, "good work, Slayer." She smiled and nodded, heading back out of the graveyard. Ripper smiled to himself and turned the opposite way towards his house.

* * *

The moaning could be heard even before he opened his front door. Not surprised, he found Ethan shagging some bird on his sofa. "I hope you put a towel down," he said, flicking on the light switch. There was a small shriek, and the sound of hurried dressing before Ethan popped his head up over the couch.

"Ripper, old man. I thought you'd be . . . later. Come, meet Brenda," he smiled. Ripper didn't see her, but he heard Brenda giggle.

"You know, there is a guest room for these sorts of trysts," Ripper reminded him, removing his shoes and leather jacket. "That sofa was steam-cleaned. Older Me said so. So either grab a towel or head into the guest room." He shrugged a shoulder, "unless you want to steam-clean it again."

"Alright, alright. Let's go, luv," Ethan grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Brenda. "Back there. Last door on the left," he told her, swatting her arse on the way. Smirking, Ethan turned back to Ripper. "Bit jealous? You could always have a round, if you want. You know I'd share anything with you."

Ripper grunted, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Ignoring the glass, he opened the bottle and took a swig. "I'm not interested in your seconds, Rayne. She's all yours." Bringing his bottle out to the sitting room, he plopped down in the armchair and reached for the guitar he had found in his bedroom. It was the same as the guitar he owned back in London, just a tad more beat up and . . . well . . . old. But it still strummed with the same resonance that had drew him to the instrument in the first place.

"Slaying go well?" Ethan asked, picking up on Ripper's withdrawn mood. He leaned against the wall, glancing between the drink and Ripper. "Buffy give you blueballs again?"

Ripper snorted, taking another drink. "I don't know, Rayne. I don't know why I'm so bloody fixated. If I could just get her out of my system, she'll just be some other bird, you know?" He scratched through his hair, reaching for his guitar and mindlessly strumming. "I don't understand her. I make her laugh sometimes. And there are moments when she looks at me . . . and she bloody snogged me. I haven't forgotten that. And I can tell she hasn't either. She can't look at me for very long . . . but sometimes, when she does look at me, it isn't me she's seeing. It's the old codger I become. The one who was a father to her. No one wants to shag their father." Rayne opened his mouth to protest, but Ripper quickly added, "Buffy doesn't want to shag her father."

"Yeah . . . but you're not her father," Ethan pointed out.

Shrugging, Ripper continued to play his guitar. "No, I'm not." He sighed. "Ah well. It's our lot to suffer in life, right? I'll get over her eventually."

"Good. The sooner the better. I hate to see you mooning over some girl," Ethan grunted. "You're like some puppy. Where's my wolf, eh? Hm? My lion? Shake it off, mate. She's just your Slayer. That's all she wants to be."

"Yeah," Ripper nodded. He knew Ethan was right. Besides, it wasn't right of him to pressure Buffy. He was a lot of things, but he preferred a willing woman in his bed. Far more fun. "Yeah, you're right. It ends here. She's a friend. That's all," he nodded firmly.

"Hullo?" came a voice from the door. "The door was open, I hope you don't mind . . . Giles?" Buffy stood there, looking quite unsure of herself with a hell of a bruise on her cheek.

"Well then. Speak of the devil," Ethan grunted. "Hullo there, love. We were just talking about how randy you make Ripper feel. But don't you worry. He's well past it now." Ripper sent him a glare cold enough to freeze the air. "Dear me. I think that's my cue. Ta, you lovebirds." Chuckling, he disappeared down the hall and into the guest room.

Ripper cleared his throat and set his guitar down. "You alright? Looks like you managed to find another scrap before reaching home," he nodded to her bruise. Standing, he crossed over to her. Buffy was eyeing him strangely . . . and he didn't like it. "Yes, I'm still bloody Ripper. Not your man Giles. Shite, did you get hit that hard?"

Buffy looked around, then settled back on him. ". . . Faith . . . woke up. From her coma. She tried to attack my mom, but I stopped her. She's headed off to jail now."

Faith. The name sounded familiar, but . . . Ripper scratched his head and walked over to his desk, pulling out Giles' diary. "Faith," he murmured, flipping through the pages. "Ah. Faith. Other Slayer who went bonkers, yes." Buffy winced. "So, she woke up from the coma, eh? She the one who gave you that shiner?" he nodded to the bruise on her cheek.

"Yes," Buffy said hesitantly, looking him over again. "So. Ripper. Not Giles."

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling you," Ripper grunted, closing the diary. "Never gonna get it through your skull though. But it's alright," he lifted his head, looking her in the eye. "We don't have to understand one another in order to work well together. I'm glad you're here, actually, while I'm feeling introspective and all that. I wanted to apologize. I've been impressing things that oughtn't be pressed. I'm just used to the old Ripper charm working . . . well like a charm," he smirked a little. "So, my apologies. From here on out . . . just Watcher and Slayer stuff. I'll forget the kiss ever happened, and we'll be straight. Alright?"

Buffy was eyeing him even harder. "We kissed."

Ripper's brow furrowed as confusion filled him. Was she drunk or something? "Aye. A bit heavily. Blocked it from your memory already?"

Her eyes lit up then, and she smirked . . . coyly? Was that coy? "I wouldn't say that," she said, almost purring. The sudden change made Ripper stand up straighter, lifting his chin and watching her carefully. "Ripper, Ripper. It's funny. Willow showed me that photo of you with the guitar a long time ago . . . definitely more handsome in person." She stepped up to him, and Ripper found his heart rate quickening beneath his chest. There was a distant buzzing in his head and ears.

"What?" he finally croaked. "Amusing, Buffy, really. Let's not tease old Ripper anymore, alright?" He brushed past her and returned to his armchair, plopping down moodily in it and clasping his bottle to him. "You've reported your news. Anything else?"

Buffy looked him over, smirking, and then followed him. "Your friend said you were randy for me. That true?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you want me?"

Ripper felt as though he were treading on very, very thin ice. He breathed out slowly, slowly setting the bottle back down. Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own, "what game are you playing at?"

She didn't seem to be in the mood for answering either. Buffy boldly crossed over to him and straddled his lap in the armchair. Ripper's breathing was becoming slightly heavier, heat spreading through his system. A haze was rolling over his mind even as his heart started to pound. A look of triumph appeared on Buffy's face before she lowered her head and brushed her lips against his. Ripper felt a surge of fire at the smallest contact. "Show me," Buffy breathed . . .

. . . And Ripper fused his lips with hers.

* * *

There was a loud rapping at the door followed by a series of rings as the bell went off. Ripper groaned, his body sore. But damn, it was a good soreness. Opening his eyes, he looked beside him and found the bed empty. Ripper frowned. Where had she gone? Bloody hell, if she was ashamed . . . that girl gave him the fiercest whiplash. Pushing himself up, he grabbed his boxers and jeans and slid them on, then went downstairs, putting on his necklace. Opening the door, a dark-haired woman about his age stared back at him. Big lips and dark clothes. She looked at him, then quickly looked away. Ripper lifted an eyebrow. "Need something?"

"Yeah, you could put a shirt on," the bird said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Look, can I come inside? I need to tell you something, and I feel better doing it in there."

"Um . . . no," Ripper said rather firmly. "No offense, luv, but I don't know who you are—"

"It's me. It's Buffy," the woman said. Ripper paused, but then shook his head. He opened his mouth to protest, but the girl continued, "I know. I don't look like her. But I am. Please, just let me in, and we'll talk about it." Ripper frowned, feeling as though this were some sort of trap. But the sun was touching her, and she was most certainly not poofing into dust and ash. So, she wasn't a vampire. Feeling that he could probably take her on if he had to, he opened the door wider and stepped inside, letting her in. Ethan had stumbled into the kitchen by that point, his hair as askew as Ripper's was.

"Hey, where did Buffy go?" Ethan yawned, eyeing the new girl. "You move on fast, mate. I heard you two," he grinned, sipping some coffee. "Knew you'd feel better once you had a taste of the Slayer. She's bloody loud—"

"Shut your glob, Rayne," Ripper growled. Whatever was going on, it wasn't Ethan's place to be a dog about Buffy. "This girl claims she's Buffy."

"I _am_ Buffy. What did you just say?" the girl spun on Ethan. "We . . . they . . . had _sex_?" her voice cracked. "Oh no. No no no no no." She gripped her hair. "Ripper, you idiot!" She charged up and slapped him across the face. "That wasn't me! Faith switched our bodies!" Ripper's head had whipped to the side, and he very nearly fell to the floor from the powerful impact. Grunting, he rubbed his cheek, looking up at the . . . . girl . . . Faith . . . Buffy . . . whatever. "I can't believe you'd just . . . You couldn't tell that it wasn't me!? I could tell it was you inside of a Fyral demon! By your eyes!"

"You had the same eyes!" Ripper shouted back, quite affronted and annoyed with the trickling amount of shame forming in his gut.

"I mean your soul, dummy!" Buffy shoved him, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Ripper growled. He really _hated_ Slayer strength sometimes.

"I didn't exactly have the time to look in your eyes, alright? I was looking . . ." Ripper groaned, rubbing his head. "I mean _you_ came onto me. I was actually a good boy. And then you parked yourself in my lap and was all . . . I mean come on! You know I bloody . . . and you were very receptive!"

"Hang on, hang on," Ethan cut in, coming out of the kitchen and stepping between them. "So, let's see here. This Faith person, who you are currently dressed as, she switched your body . . . for hers. So, the person who came and gave my pal Ripper here a right good shag was . . . Faith . . . but in your body." Buffy-Faith nodded. "Well," Ethan sipped his coffee and turned back to Ripper, patting him on the shoulder. "You got half-way there, mate. Best consider it the most you'll ever get."

Ripper pulled away from him. This couldn't be right. It had felt _good._ It had felt _right._ "How do I know you're telling the truth? Hm? She could be lying. This could actually be Faith, and she's trying to mess things up between Buffy and I."

"Things? Ripper, there isn't anything between us but Slaying," Buffy—supposedly—Buffy stated.

Ripper blinked, and then lowered his head. Surprisingly, his heart gave a little twinge as the revelation hit. This was definitely Buffy. The one who rejected him and only saw him as the short-comings of his future self. The something she had decided she would ignore until he reached the ripe old age of forty and looked more like the man she remembered. "Right," he said quietly. He needed a cigarette. And a drink.

Just then, Willow burst through the door. "Oh good, Buffy, you're here. Oh, everyone, this is really Buffy. Faith had a Demonic Katra. It switches bodies. Look, we made a new one, so we can get you back where you belong." Ripper ignored this exchange. He knew well that it was Buffy. Then the person he had been with last night . . . some bird he didn't even know. Oddly, he felt used. What was the point? Had Faith been simply trying to make a point? Because it was a waste of time. Buffy wasn't interested in that regard at all. Sinking back onto his armchair, he kicked his feet up on the table and switched on the telly.

"Oh, guys. This is Tara," Willow introduced. "Tara, this is Buffy—the real one—that's Ethan—the crude one—and that's Ripper—he normally has a shirt and . . . and no . . . bite marks. Why do you have bite marks? Did you get into a fight?" Willow asked, concerned. Ripper gave her a look. It took a beat. And then, "oh! Oh." Willow anxiously looked between Buffy-Faith and himself. "Err . . . So, we need to find Faith. You need to have direct contact with her whilst holding the Katra."

Just then, the sound of a 'Breaking News' alert came from the TV. "This just in . . . there seems to be some sort of hostage situation at the local church. One of the men who escaped from the church before it was locked down described the attackers as 'deeply disfigured. Almost inhuman.' So far, one escapee has since died of severe neck wounds. There is no report on the condition of the parishioners still trapped inside, but their assailants have vowed to kill all of them if police attempt to storm the church. We'll be covering the situation—"

There was silence in the room as realization dawned. Vampires were out during the day . . . in a church. "So much for having the days to myself," Buffy grumbled. "Let's go," she sighed, grabbing a supply of stakes that were kept in Giles' weapon chest. Ripper stood and hurried upstairs to grab a shirt. Tara and Willow followed as well. Ethan merely rolled his eyes and sauntered back into the guest room with his mug of coffee.

* * *

They arrived at the church and joined the throng of people waiting around the police-line tape. The group edged around until they reached one of the church's entrances. The entire building was surrounded by police cars and ambulances. "I need to get inside," Buffy-Faith said, eyeing the police offers blocking her way. Ripper, gazing over the area, smirked mischievously when his eyes alighted on something. Buffy noticed and winced. "Oh no. You have that look in your eye again. Are you about to do something bad?"

Ripper winked and started casually moving towards one of the empty ambulances. "Considering there's a group of vampires in there murdering people, I feel like 'bad' is a bit relative at the moment, luv." Buffy rolled her eyes, but she prepared herself to run. Ripper continued his casual stroll along the ambulance until he reached the door. Glancing around, he made sure the officers were either busy with the crowd or the church, and quickly opened the driver door. Grabbing for the gearshift, he put it into Neutral, then quickly closed the door and moved to the front. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back against the front of the ambulance, giving it a good hard shove . . . and since they were parked on a slight incline . . . the ambulance started to roll down the hill.

"Stop that car! Stop that car!" The officers closest to them started chasing after it. Ripper nodded to Buffy-Faith, and she took off for the church. He rejoined Willow and Tara, anxious despite his cigarette.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Willow asked him worriedly.

Ripper smiled down at her. "Of course she will. She's Buffy." _And you should be in there with her, Ripper. You're supposed to watch her back._ He grit his teeth, smoking a bit deeper. The fight seemed to drag on for hours, but at long last, the doors opened, and the hostages streamed out. The police moved forward quickly, taking them to be checked out. Buffy—the real Buffy—returned to them. Ripper looked into her eyes. When she couldn't meet his gaze for very long, he nodded with a sinking feeling. "Welcome back, Buffy." He stamped out his cigarette whilst Willow hugged her.

"So, where did Faith go?" Willow asked, turning them in the direction of Giles' house.

"She ran off . . . and I let her," Buffy shrugged her shoulder. "We shared something. I don't know if Faith is really any different . . . but I think she wants to change. I just . . . I hope she finds what she's looking for out there." They made it to Giles' house, and Willow and Tara walked in, but Buffy stopped him. "Hang on. We have . . . things to talk about."

"Like the fact that I shagged you?" Ripper asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. The door closed, and she led them to the patio area, sitting at one of the coffee tables. "We need to talk about this. It's getting out of hand," she said, looking for all her young years—though he supposed she wasn't really that much younger than him at this point—quite serious. "Giles, I'm not interested in doing anything—"

"Ripper," he interrupted. "See, that's the problem right there. You can't see past the old man. I'm not at that point yet, Buffy. I'm just me, with my own experiences, right here. And I can't really help it if you look bloody attractive killing vampires."

"Rupert," she compromised, giving him a cross look. "We've had this conversation before. Giles was like a father to me. Even if you look different and act different, I see him inside of you. Older men aren't really my thing."

"Beg to differ," Ripper raised a finger matter-of-factly.

"Oh shush. Angel was . . . And Riley's not that much older and . . ." Buffy frowned at herself.

"No, you just prefer the dark, moody types. Brooding with a tad bad boy flair," Ripper said pointedly, smirking.

"How do you—"

"My older self left a very detailed journal," he replied smugly. "Face it, luv. I just so happen to be your exact type. The only thing keeping you from being on my arm is a memory." He swallowed then and felt a tremor of nerves. _You're a sodding schoolboy. Just tell her._ "Buffy, I don't have all the answers. Not even close. Especially about whatever it is I'm feeling towards you. I just . . . I just know that I really enjoy being around you. And I like making you laugh . . . and glare. And I'm sodding frustrated because I know Riley is just a safety net for you. I can see it. If you'd just give me a chance, I-I-I could do you proud. I'm a bit of a mess, sure. I party too much and drink too much and have a terrible smoking habit. But I have my reasons. I may not be the best bloke around, but I can be the best bloke for you. If you'll let me."

Buffy's eyes were slowly filling with tears, and Ripper swallowed thickly, feeling panic start to take hold. "Rupert, I don't know if I can," she said quietly. "I like where we are. It's what I'm familiar with. The camaraderie . . . the working together stuff . . . that's what I know. If I open myself up to you, like I did with him . . . who's to say you won't just up and disappear through a dimension one day? Or . . . or let's say it doesn't work out . . . and then I lose any and all trace of the Giles I have. I mean, what are we even talking about here? Sex? Or . . . or-?"

"I don't _know_ ," Ripper groaned. "But I do know that the thought of going steady with you isn't particularly . . . unpleasant. You feel something here, right?" he gestured between the two of them. "Something that runs deeper than just the connection between Watcher and Slayer."

Buffy let a tear run down her cheek. "Even if there is, and I'm not saying there is, I couldn't allow it. You're Giles. I can't just . . . disrespect or taint the memories I have of him."

Ripper clenched his jaw, but he kept his patience. "Giles loved you," he told her bluntly. "In a fatherly way or whatever you want to call it. He wasn't your father though. So, his love was based on protectiveness and duty and affection. Just because there may not have been a sexual aspect to it doesn't discredit it for real love . . . for romantic love. Maybe that's part of the reason why I am here. To protect you, to help you and to give you affection. Look at it logically." He cleared his throat. "Say you never knew the older version of me. I'd be an ideal romantic partner, yes?" Buffy sniffled in reply. "And I am obviously pulled towards you. Under normal circumstances, we'd be quite a pair. The only obstacle is the fact that we met—or rather you met me—in a reverse order."

She was wiping her eyes, and he wasn't sure if she heard him at all . . . or understood. "Rupert, I can't ever give you what you want. No matter what I may or may not be feeling. So, forget about it. It isn't real, anyway. You had . . . you had my body. I'm sure you'll feel better in no time." She stood then, and Ripper stood as well.

"I wouldn't have," he said quickly, "if I had known. I swear."

"All the same. You saw me in a way I didn't want you to see me," Buffy said quietly, turning away from him. "I don't think you can say anything that will make me change the way I feel about the situation, Ripper. I'm sorry." With that, she left the patio and headed back for the street.

Ripper sank back into his chair, feeling crushed. That was it then. He was almost surprised with how much it hurt. "So, that's what that feels like," he muttered. His scowl returned, and he replaced the approaching hurt with apathetic anger. "Sod her then."

"That's the spirit," he heard Ethan behind him. "Before you ask, yes, I heard everything." He moved to the seat Buffy had vacated and sat down. "Ripper, old boy, it looks to me like you're in the mood . . . for a great big party. Come inside. I've got all the ingredients. There's no pick-me-up quite like a Summoning." Ethan pulled Ripper up to his feet. "We're going to finally have a romp with Eyghon."


	7. The Sound of Silence

Loud rock music shook the house, a few books and bits and bobs that had formerly been on the edges of shelves were now piled on the floor. The only sound that pervaded the screaming guitar and lead vocalist were the sounds of moans and pleasurable cries. The room was dark, and barely anything was visible or clear in the heady, hazy aura Ripper found himself lost in. The drugs he'd taken himself, along with the trip he was experiencing from Thomas was potent and . . . exhilarating. They'd been at this for a week or so now. Ethan had been the first to sleep and be possessed by Eyghon. It had become an often and addicted practice since then. This was the third night in a week of a Summoning.

Through their tattoo, they shared a psychic link with Thomas. Eyghon lived through him, permeating his essence with lust and pleasure and a trip so mind-blowing, Ripper wondered why they ever left. Their first Summoning had just been themselves. The experience had been enough that they found pleasure merely experiencing it through Ethan. The second time, however, Ethan had the fantastic idea of inviting some birds over to share the experience with. It was a bit more difficult to make the experience wide enough for those without the Mark to feel it, but they had found a way by adding a psyche spell onto whoever was asleep. Like a bubble, it was filled with whatever the anchor's psyche was experiencing.

And so . . . orgies. Ripper's home had become a place known for sordid, intense parties. And that's what it had turned into. Ripper no longer looked Buffy up save for when she called upon him to help her out with a patrol now and then. Otherwise, he was here, losing himself in drugs and sex, or working on his newly formed band, _Wretched._ They'd been playing a few gigs at The Bronze, and the population there had warmed to them. It seemed a great deal of them were tired of the wrist-slitting music or existentialist shite and wanted some good _hard_ rock back. His band provided that. And it was a good time.

Now though. Now was the best time. Ripper finished inside of his date after he felt her quake and heard her cry against his neck. Groaning, he pulled away and laid on the floor. The others were still going at it, though in the haze, he could barely make out individual limbs let alone bodies. Removing his condom, he tossed it into the bin and pulled his jeans back up. Handing his partner a cigarette, he lit it for her, then smirked at her and smoked. "Well. I suppose that must be one reason they call you Ripper," she teased, rolling onto her stomach and looking up at him through hooded eyes. Her eyes were as dilated as his from the drugs. He could barely even feel the floor underneath him. Even no longer in the sexual act, he could feel the euphoria of orgasm and blissful climb from those around him.

He moaned and rested his head back on the floor, smoking slowly, listening to the music. "That's what they say," he replied with a touch of indifference. The bird was fine and all, but he wasn't looking for a conversation. She must have gotten the hint, because he felt her leave and crawl towards someone else. Ripper was unable to move, anyway. He was soaring high above them all . . . or felt like it, at least. The music . . . the river of pleasure and highs of pure joy . . .

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was being slapped on the cheeks. "Bugger off," he grunted, waving his hand at the person.

"Wake up, Ripper. Party's over. Help me get poor Thomas into bed. He did well tonight." Ethan. Ugh.

Ripper groaned and opened his eyes. The house was trashed. Beer bottles, discarded condoms, chip bags and old pizza boxes were strewn everywhere. There were a few bras and panties lost amid the chaos as well. Thomas still sat inside of the Summoning Circle, though he was awake. "Hullo, Rip," Thomas smiled. "Good for you?"

"Best yet," Ripper assured him. "You did good, mate. Now it's time for you to rest and regain your strength." He picked Thomas up under his arm, Ethan taking the other arm, and they carried him back to his room in the back. Deirdre was already asleep with Philip. Setting Thomas on his bed, they got him a glass of water and some food as well. "Night, Thom," Ripper said, running his hand through his hair. "Call if you need anything."

He left with Ethan out of the room and back into the war zone. Randall was already starting to clean it up. "I feel terrible," Randall said, frowning. "Coming-Down is the hardest part." His eyes lit up then, and he looked at them. "When can we do it again?"

Ethan chuckled and patted his head. "Eager to go again? Slow down stallion. Even shining examples of your masculinity must take a break."

Ripper grunted as he stooped to pick up some trash and tossed it into the bag Randall was holding. "There has to be a low, R," Ripper said, wrinkling his nose when he picked up a used condom and threw it away. "Otherwise, we'd take the highs for granted. It'd all . . . just be the same. No change. And without change . . . there isn't any life."

"That's way too deep for me at this hour. Go hit the showers. Don't you have a gig later?" Ethan asked.

"Mhm. Bronze. I think we might actually get paid this time," Ripper smirked and scooped up a bit more trash before leaving it to them and hitting the shower. It was time to get Rock n' Roll certified.

* * *

' _You're not ready_

 _For the love insiiiiide!_

 _You keep pretending,_

 _But you just can't hiiiiide!_

 _I know I said that I'd_

 _Be standing by your side_

 _But IIIIIII-'_

Ripper paused in the song, tearing out a quick, fast-paced guitar lick before singing loudly once more.

' _Your path's unbeaten_

 _And it's all uphill_

 _And you can meet it,_

 _But you never wiiiiill_

 _And I'm the reason that you're standing stilllll_

 _But IIIII-'_

The drums sped up as they entered the chorus. Ripper had wrote the rock ballad recently. It was rather clear who his muse was. It was just a good thing that Buffy and her friends went to different bars these days. The whole point of starting up this band and seeing Buffy less frequently was so he could find an outlet for his . . . confused . . . feelings. And, of course, to get over those confused feelings as quickly as possible.

' _I wish I could say_

 _The right words_

 _To lead you through this laaaand_

 _Wish I could play the lover_

 _And take you by the haaand_

 _Wish I could make you see_

 _But now I understaaaand_

 _I'm just waiting for the day!'_

' _My cries around you,_

 _You don't hear at alllll_

' _Cause you know I'll be there_

 _No matter the falllll._

 _So you just lie there_

 _When we should be standing talllll_

 _But IIII-!_

 _Ohhh, IIII!-'_

A guitar solo came, loud and screeching. The crowd roared in delight, jumping around the stage in a small mosh pit. The Bronze wasn't that big, after all. Ripper shredded the solo, winking at a few girls in the audience who were blowing him kisses. Once the solo was over, he returned to the mic and finished the song.

' _I wish I could_

 _Lay your arms down_

 _And let you rest at last_

 _Wish I could_

 _Slay your demons_

 _But that's not the role I'm cast_

 _Yet I remain heeeere_

 _Your stalwart, standing fast_

 _But I'm waiting, day-by-day_

 _I'm just waiting_

 _For the day!'_

There was a bass and guitar riff, and then the song ended. The lights went out dramatically, and the band bowed. Ripper took backseat for the next song, _The Yanks are Okay,_ just playing the guitar as the other singer led them into another rock anthem. He was moving his fingers quickly up and down the strings when he caught sight of . . . No, she couldn't be here. The spotlight swiveled over the crowd . . . and sure enough . . . there she was. Buffy. They locked eyes, and though Ripper expected her to look away quickly as she normally did . . . she held his gaze this time. It was then that he noticed that she appeared . . . rather flushed. But that could be for any reason, so he quickly moved on from it . . . and was the first to break eye contact this time.

Another set was played through, and they finished once the owner of The Bronze waved at them. It was closing time. With a final bow, Ripper and his band moved off stage and into the back. "Did you see them?" Jason, the other singer and bass player, asked. "They were drooling! They love us. We could be so big!"

Ripper smirked. What a naïve notion. He didn't really know the kid. None of them, actually. He'd met up with them here at the bar once. They found they had shared an interest in singing and had pulled together their talents to form _Wretched._ That being said, he still wasn't exactly mates with them. He couldn't tell Jason the same things he could talk about with Ethan. These yanks were innocent. They didn't know what went bump in the night. A part of that appealed to him. He could pretend a little while with them. For a little while . . . he could be naïve, too.

"There you are," he heard behind him as he put his guitar in its case. Turning, he saw Buffy leaning against the wall. "I didn't know you could sing. Or play the guitar. Do you dance, too?"

Ripper smiled lightly, closing his guitar case and shouldering it. "Used to. Not much to dance about these days." He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked her over. "Where's your lad?" he asked her, lifting an eyebrow. "Pretty lady like yourself out here alone? I'd be worried, if I didn't know you could handle yourself."

Buffy's smile faded slightly at the mention of Riley. "He's got some . . . Initiative stuff. I'm here with Willow and Xander. Didn't know I'd be getting a surprise performance from Rupert Giles, himself."

"Hm. Did I stop singing, too?" he asked curiously, tilting his head. "Still had my guitar," he nodded to the case on his back. "I have one just like it back in my room in London. Nicer, of course."

"If he did," Buffy shrugged, "he never told me." She paused, then inched closer to him. "It's . . . nice. Knowing something new. It helps." She seemed to study him for a moment, and Ripper felt annoyed. What was she up to? He was avoiding her for a reason.

"Look, Buffy. Not that I don't appreciate the compliments, but I'm sort of attempting to be a good boy here and make a clean break of you," Ripper said. "It's worked out . . . so far." Save for the constant emptiness that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. That was pretty new.

"I know," Buffy nodded, looking down. "I just wanted to ask . . . That song . . . That was sort of directed towards me, wasn't it?"

Ripper frowned, his jaw tightening. He didn't want to open up. The song was outlet enough. "Did the word 'demon' give it away?" he said finally, shifting his weight between his feet.

Buffy smiled, and he saw . . . he saw something he didn't want to get his hopes up for. "A bit, yeah," she nodded. "I just wanted to say . . . I liked it. And I like hearing you sing. And if it's okay . . . I'll come by more? I swear I'll buy some merchandise or something," she added with a solemn look.

Shrugging his shoulder, Ripper began to lead the way from backstage and out into the main bar, which had emptied quickly after the owner had called for last drinks. "Come if you like. I don't mind." A part of him did though. This was supposed to be his thing away from her. True, she was basically his muse at this point, but it was a bit embarrassing baring one's heart out in front of her. To strangers, it was nothing. But to her? She knew exactly who and what he was singing about. "Just, if you don't mind, keep it quiet to the others? About the song? Rock ballad or not, I can't look soft." And he wasn't entirely sure he could take the pitying looks from Xander and Willow without feeling like a pathetic fool.

"You got'cha," Buffy said quickly. "They won't even have a clue." She nudged him. "Our little secret—Ripper's soft belly." She poked him in the tummy, and he gaped at her.

"Oi. You have to buy me dinner before you touch my tummy, luv," he told her, waving her hand off of him. "It's a privilege."

"That right?" Buffy laughed. "Alright, Buddha. I'll see you tomorrow for patrol." She left the club and joined her friends waiting outside. Ripper tried to control the look of yearning he sent after her . . . and decided that he had never made such a look to begin with and left shortly after, headed home.

* * *

A rough shaking roused him from his deep sleep. Ripper jolted awake, thinking he was under attack. Bolting up, he clenched his hand into a fist and was about to send it into Ethan's face, when he realized who it was. Ethan's mouth was moving, but Ripper couldn't hear him. 'What are you on about?' Ripper asked . . . and then froze when he didn't hear _his_ voice either. What the hell!? 'Hello?" he tried again, but nothing. He couldn't even rasp.

Ethan gave him a pointed look and gestured for him to follow him. Ripper dragged himself out of bed, clad in his undershirt and boxers, and followed him downstairs. The others were gathered in the sitting room, pale and worried. Dierdre was pacing. When she saw Ripper, she came to him. Ripper could see the anxiety in her eyes . . . all of them. It was so . . . quiet. There wasn't a complete absence of sound either. He could hear water dripping from the faucet and cars outside . . . but not even a whisper from anyone in the room.

Ripper squeezed Dierdre's shoulder comfortingly, then gestured to the clock. 'When?' he mouthed. They all just stared at him. Sighing, he scratched through his head and walked over to the desk, pulling out some paper and pen. On it, he wrote, ' _When did this start? Anyone notice?'_ Presenting it to them, they read it and shook their heads. Well, he hadn't gotten home until the early morning hours, and he had his voice then. It was . . . what? . . . he looked at the clock, near noon . . . so, nearly twelve hours. Something had happened during that time . . . and it could be any one thing.

Knowing that Buffy and the others would likely be on their way at some point, Ripper gestured for everyone to start reading. It was research time. He didn't like this. Whatever had happened, he wanted it gone. He hated not being able to hear himself. Ripper scanned the volumes in the bookshelf. Good lord, when had he bought all these books? His album collection was impressive—he was pleased to see—but it wasn't nearly as large as it could have been. Obviously, his older self had traded in albums for books. Normally, he'd pity that man . . . but today, he was glad for it.

The problem was, he didn't even know where to begin. Was this a demon? A spell? Sighing, he rolled a cigarette behind his ear and ran is fingertips over a few of them. Absence of voice. He couldn't imagine why someone would cast such a spell . . . so he decided to focus on demons. Grabbing a heavy book, he pulled it out and sat at the desk. The next set of hours was spent turning page after page, reading through the demons listed. God, there were so many. A few he recognized from his previous studies, but he didn't recall ever learning about a demon who stole voices.

The room was eerie. It was far too quiet. Someone put the news on for some background noise, and it helped the tension a bit. As Ripper expected, Buffy and the others showed up in the early evening. He rose when they entered. Buffy and Willow were wearing small erase boards around their necks. Ripper waved, looking over at them. Buffy wrote on board, and then showed him _, 'anything?_ ' Ripper shook his head and gestured to the room, where everyone had their heads buried in books. Buffy bit her lip, then wrote on her board again. _'I had a dream last night. A little girl said some weird poem.'_ Ripper gave her a questioning look. Buffy wrote again, taking a bit of time. Ripper looked her over, then grew bored and impatient and borrowed Willow's dry erase marker and wrote on the other half of Buffy's board.

Once she was finished, they turned the board around, so they could read each other's messages. Buffy read, _'you look lovely today.'_ She rolled her eyes, but Ripper caught her hiding a smile.

Ripper read, _"'_ _Can't even shout. Can't even cry. The Gentlemen are coming by. Looking in windows,  
knocking on doors...They need to take seven and they might take yours...Can't call to mom. Can't say a word. You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard._ _'"_ Well, that was disconcerting . . . and entirely appropriate for what was currently happening. He wasn't entirely sure what or who The Gentleman were, but the non-shouting was certainly accurate. He took the board and showed it to the others, pointing at The Gentleman as something for them to focus on. The name wasn't exactly familiar to him, but the poem . . . the poem lingered in his mind like an old song that he once knew the words to, but hadn't heard it in years and years, and so now he only recalled the melody.

Another phrase of the poem held his interest as well. They needed to take seven. Seven what? Just as he was about to settle back in at his desk, Xander clapped his hands together to get their attention and pointed at the screen. A news report was on. The anchor—not inside Sunnydale—was saying that the entire town of Sunnydale was suffering from some sort of laryngitis. Ripper scoffed. That's what they were calling it? At least now they knew it only effected Sunnydale. Big surprise there though. Hellmouth and all. As night drew upon them, they weren't any closer to discovering what was going on.

' _Ripper and I will patrol tonight. You guys keep researching,'_ Buffy wrote, showing them all. There were nods, and Ripper grabbed his leather jacket, putting it on and following Buffy out the door. It was depressingly quiet outside. They walked down main street in town and watched as people scuffled their feet down the sidewalk. Everyone looked rather miserable and lost. Ripper walked beside Buffy, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. Glancing over at her, he watched her eyes darting everywhere, wary, as if she expected trouble to jump out at any second. He felt an overwhelming need to mess with her. She was far too serious.

Reaching over, he tapped her on the opposite shoulder, then quickly returned to walking normally, ignoring her when she looked to see who had tapped her. She turned to him, and he gave her an innocent questioning look. Buffy shook her head, and they continued walking once more. Ripper waited . . . and then tapped her shoulder again. Once more, she looked around, and he was nonchalant. Ripper waited until they had reached the end of the street before he did it again. His fingers hovered over her shoulder, but she was ready for him. Buffy grabbed his fingers and twisted his arm behind him. Gasping in pain, he was pushed away. Turning around, he grinned at her annoyed expression. She pushed him gently. Ripper laughed, falling into step beside her once more.

It was odd. They couldn't speak. Couldn't communicate. But he felt more connected to her than ever. He felt like they were in sync. As if they were finally flowing down the same river instead of fighting against the current. They paused at the end of the street, and Buffy glanced down to a neighborhood. She looked at him, and he nodded. Together, they walked into the neighborhood, the streetlights turning off inexplicably.

A sudden chill in the air made them pause. It wasn't really in the air so much as they felt it in themselves. There were figures on the opposite side of the street, coming towards them. They were tall and thin . . . the pair they saw. Buffy and Ripper stopped, their bodies tensing as the figures came closer. Ripper realized they weren't walking . . . they were hovering. Around the two, there were oddly-shaped creatures flailing about them on the ground. Once they were in sight, Ripper could see that they were suit-clad and bald. Though the street was dark, the moonlight allowed them enough illumination to see . . . glittering teeth. Metallic teeth. The creatures around them were wearing straightjackets and appeared deformed. Ripper didn't like them. They touched some deeper, inner child fear. The kind of nightmare that you woke from and felt paralyzed in bed, as if the monster in your dreams had followed you into your bedroom, and you didn't dare move, lest they harm you.

That is what Ripper felt when he gazed upon the pair of—what he could only call demons—and their minions. The fear was followed by annoyance. He was Ripper. Nothing scared him. He drew from his energy and created a fireball in his hand, throwing it at them, it merely bounced off of the suits and onto one of the straightjacket minions, who started to silently shriek and flail harder as it caught fire. Buffy prepared herself for a fight beside him, and he started working on another fireball.

The Gentlemen, for that was only who these demons could be, were just a few meters from them. The remaining minion came rushing towards them. Buffy intercepted him and kicked him in the chest. The minion stumbled back, but he was quick on his feet and crawled on hands and feet back to her, doing some sort of cartwheel and getting back into the fight. They went at it, trading blows. Ripper let Buffy handle him and tossed his new fireball at the Gentlemen once more. Again, it simply bounced off, as if a physical barrier protected them. 'Fuck,' he mouthed.

Buffy had snapped the minion's neck at this point and rushed forward to take on the Gentlemen. Ripper hurried after her. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he couldn't let her fight them on her own. Buffy had a stake in hand. Would it work? She slammed it into one of the demon's chest . . . but it only smiled at her, tilting its head to the side. God, that thing was creepy. So, stakes were out. Buffy stepped back and whacked the demon upside the head with her foot. Nothing. No damage. Barely even any reaction at all. Ripper was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. Was there any way to kill these things?

He saw the other demon take out a scalpel, the sharp blade glittering in the moonlight. Ripper hurried forward and grabbed Buffy's arm, pulling her back. This wasn't going them any good. She gave him an annoyed look, obviously wanting to keep fighting. He shook his head at her, and she tensed under his hand . . . but then relaxed and nodded. The Gentlemen were grinning at them, floating closer, both of them wielding scalpels now. Ripper held Buffy to him and reached deep into his energy. Beside them, a car started to shake. Ripper's eyes closed, his hands shaking as he tapped into the earth's magnetic fields and influenced them with his energy, making the car lift up from the ground . . . and toss itself at the Gentlemen. They were hit, and Ripper collapsed against Buffy with a heavy sigh and inaudible groan, exhausted. As the Gentlemen tried to free themselves under the car, Buffy supported Ripper, and they hurried away.

Returning to Ripper's home, they found the lights out. Everyone had turned in for bed. Ripper was exhausted and trembling from the amount of energy and strength he'd needed to use to fuel the spell. Buffy was kind enough to help him up to his bed, which he collapsed on gratefully. Removing his jacket, he dropped it beside him, then just laid on his back. They were in trouble. These Gentlemen couldn't be stopped. Not by typical means, anyway. Looking up and over at Buffy, who was lingering at the doorway, he saw that she looked shaken as well. Pushing himself up slowly, wincing as he did so, he caught her gaze.

Buffy sighed and shook her head. Her message was clear. What were they supposed to do? Ripper shrugged his shoulder, then nodded downstairs. Continue what they were doing. Keep looking for an answer. Buffy didn't like that, if her nose-wrinkling was anything to go by. Ripper smiled. She was like him—she preferred action. She pushed herself off of the doorframe and started to head downstairs. Ripper tapped his foot, making her look back at him. He gestured down, to where the others slept. Xander and Willow were asleep on the sofas. It was better if she stayed. They might not know how to kill the Gentlemen, but he knew everyone else in the house would feel safer with the Slayer with them. She nodded, accepting the invitation to stay, and continued downstairs. Ripper turned out his light, changing out of his shirt and jeans. He heard the armchair groan downstairs and knew Buffy had settled in to sleep as well. It took but a few minutes to pull him into sleep.

* * *

She lay before him, her eyes wide and mouth opened in a silent scream. Her pajama shirt had been cut through . . . and her chest opened. Ripper stared, not believing what he was seeing. Deirdre was dead, her heart missing from her chest. Philip was sobbing in the corner, holding himself. Randall sat with him, comforting him. Thomas had went with Ethan to get the police. Ripper stood . . . staring . . . shocked, stupefied . . . and insulted. Though the chest was open, it was clear that it had been sliced precisely . . . with a scalpel. The Gentlemen had been here. In his own house. Right under his nose. And they had killed one of his friends.

He was shaking as fury started to take hold. Deirdre had been counting on him. True, they had more or less stopped looking for a way back to the seventies, but they had remained a unit. Deirdre had even helped with some of the healing spells after some tough fights he'd had alongside Buffy. She was gentle. Just interested in having a good time. Why had they chosen her? Philip was taking it extremely hard, as he had been right beside her during the entire thing. He hadn't even heard her . . . felt her . . . just woken to find her like that.

Ripper turned away from the body. There was nothing more he could do here. He needed to find out how to kill these bastards. Buffy was standing in the hall with Ethan. She gave him a worried look, even being so bold as to touch his arm in question. Ripper looked down at her, his expression sad . . . but determined. She nodded, and he returned the nod. Leading the way back into the sitting room, he paced, thinking. The Gentlemen . . . missing hearts . . . the poem . . . It was all so familiar . . . Then it hit him. They were looking in the wrong place.

Rushing to the bookcase, he pulled out books left and right, letting them drop onto the floor until he found the one he was looking for. Fairytales. Flipping through the pages, he found the sketch he was looking for and stomped his foot, trying to get everyone's attention. They trickled in, and he pointed at the page excitedly. He held up five fingers to ask for five minutes, then carried the book to his desk and started to draw. Once he was finished, he made sure everyone was gathered in the sitting room and presented his findings via drawings.

The first page consisted of his own drawing of stick figured versions of The Gentlemen. Underneath, he wrote, _'the Gentlemen are demons that are considered to be fairytales. Obviously, they're real.'_ He switched to the next page, which contained a bunch of drawn hearts. The main one in the middle had a 'B and R' written in it. He winked at Buffy, who scoffed. _'They have to collect seven hearts in order to continue to live.'_ Then he switched to the next picture, which was of—presumably—Buffy with a bunch of exclamation points coming from her face towards the Gentlemen. _'Only the sound of a human scream can kill them, which is why they steal all of voices when they come to town.'_ The last page consisted of Buffy standing heroically on a pile of dead Gentlemen bodies, the sun rising behind her and little hearts drawn all around her. _'We need to find where they keep the voices, get them back, and then Buffy can scream and end The Gentlemen once and for all.'_

Ripper felt quite proud of himself. He'd found this out. He'd solved it. It felt . . . _good._ Buffy was writing something. When she finished, she held up her board. _'How do we find them?'_

Willow raised her hand, quickly writing on her board. _'We could use a trace spell on Deirdre's blood. It should lead us right to them if performed correctly.'_ Ripper snapped his fingers and pointed at her. Perfect. Willow beamed. Philip shook his head vehemently. Ripper turned to him. It was obvious he didn't want his girlfriend's body to be tampered with any further, but they needed to do this. Or else other people would be killed. Ripper wasn't sure how many hearts had already been collected. Philip sighed and slowly nodded.

Willow and himself collected some blood from the body, and they locked themselves in the bathroom whilst the police arrived to take care of the body and ask questions. Willow placed the necessary ingredients into the cauldron, and then nodded to Ripper, who added the blood. Grasping her hand, they chanted—silently—until the cauldron started smoking. The smoke moved upwards and formed a tiny ball. It started to leave the bathroom, and Ripper followed it. Snapping his fingers for Buffy, he gestured for her to follow him. The hunt was on.

The little ball of smoke led them into town . . . and then to a clock tower. Whilst Buffy played the part of the lookout, Ripper picked the locked to the tower, and they snuck in. Despite it being light outside, it was dark within the tower, obviously abandoned save for when it needed maintenance. The two crept quietly through the tower, braced for any form of movement. The hall led to stairs, and they went step by step . . . hearing shifting from up above. Ripper's body was tensed up, prepared to jump and attack at the first sign of danger. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he thought it might be heard over the near-deafening silence.

After what felt like forever, they entered the top of the tower where the machinery for the clock rested. At first, they didn't see anyone . . . and then the minions, or footmen as the story told, attacked. They swarmed. Buffy fought them off easily. Ripper got a few good punches in, knocking a footman out cold. Another one jumped on his back, and Ripper grit his teeth in a growl, trying to buck him off. He slammed back against a wall, the footman grunting and loosening his grip. Ripper grabbed the footman's arm and rolled him off of his back and onto the floor. Straddling him, Ripper shoved his fist into the footman's face over and over, until he felt bones break and the footman shudder. Counting him out of the fight, Ripper panted and rolled off of him. Wiping his forehead, he looked over to see how Buffy was doing. She had five footman around her on the floor. Ripper scoffed and shook his head.

But then things became serious. The Gentlemen showed up, all smiles and hovering above the floor. Ripper backed off, wary . . . but then he spotted an odd-looking box on a table. Buffy noticed it, too. She mouthed for him to get it. Ripper mouthed something back, something that made her stare at him in confusion. He smiled, winked, then dove for the box, slamming it onto the floor and crushing it with his shoe. His throat tickled, and he coughed. There was a pause . . . and then Buffy screamed. The Gentlemen and remaining footmen strained and flailed . . . and then their heads exploded.

Ripper cleared his throat. "Oh, thank god. I missed my voice," he grinned. "Excellent screaming there, luv. You really showed them."

Buffy snorted. "I think I liked you better mute." Ripper chuckled, and he took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. "I'm sorry about Dierdre," Buffy said quietly.

"Yeah," Ripper frowned, putting the cigarette in his mouth and looking down. "She was a good girl, D." Sighing, he settled against the wall and looked moodily down at the floor. "She'd have been safe . . . if she hadn't been brought here with me." Dierdre wasn't even supposed to be here. And she had been killed. That was on him. "And it was right under my nose. Came right into my home and killed her."

Buffy approached him slowly. "Our nose. I was there, too. Don't take it too hard, Ripper. There was nothing we could have done, anyway." She took the cigarette from his lips and dropped it onto the floor, stepping on it. "You shouldn't smoke," she said. "Makes people less inclined to be near your mouth." Ripper lifted an eyebrow at that, incredibly interested. "What did you say? Before? You mouthed something."

Ripper smirked. "For me to know, and for you to find out, luv." She huffed. "Come on. Let's get out of here." Together, they left the tower, their arms brushing. "So, I hope my head doesn't pop off when you scream for me," Ripper gave her a wicked look.

"Ugh!" Buffy shoved him away. "You're so gross! Seriously. I liked you better mute."

Ripper laughed, feeling warm despite the loss he'd just had. "That's just because you haven't heard what I can whisper in your ear."


	8. A Death in the Family

"So, it's over. Just like that?" Riley asked, incredulous. "I knew this was going to happen," he sighed. "You've been acting distant ever since you went to the Bronze. What happened there? What changed? Did I do something wrong?"

Ethan paused in his walk back home after meeting up with some demons to do a bit of business. He knew that voice. And he knew the voice that followed. Knowing how important information could be, he ducked behind a tree on the college campus as the Slayer and her boyfriend patrolled by. He peeked out, seeing the forlorn look on Buffy's face. What was this now? "No, Riley. You've been a perfect gentleman in all of this. I hate to do this to you . . . but I can't string you along, pretending everything is the same . . . when I know it's not," Buffy was saying. "I just can't . . . be in a relationship when I'm not sure what it is I really want."

"You mean who," Riley retorted. "Come on, Buffy. I'm not a complete idiot. More patrols with him than me. Hell, you've been spending more time with him than me in general lately. What? Do I not swear enough for you? Should I wear some leather? Smoke a bit? Get into some fights? Will that keep you interested?"

"Riley, that's not fair," Buffy said quietly, and Ethan had to strain to hear her. "I didn't want this to happen. I didn't think it would. But . . . I did what he asked . . . I saw _him._ "

"And you liked what you saw," Riley snorted, his hands on his hips, looking quite the disgruntled soldier. "Right, well when you're over the bad boy phase, you know where to find me. Go ahead. Get it out of your system. Once you remember what he used to be to you, you'll drop him, too. It's just what you do." Ethan ducked quickly behind the tree as Riley turned towards him.

"Riley!" Buffy called. The soldier ignored her, passing by Ethan's tree without seeing him. "I'm sorry," he heard Buffy whisper before moving in the opposite direction.

Once they moved off, Ethan stepped out from behind the tree. "Well, well. Buffy is a free woman now . . . and hot for old Ripper. Hm. Won't he be happy?" He didn't like it. He'd lost too much of the Ripper he knew to this Slayer already. He needed to do something . . . quickly. Kill it while it was still in the crib, as the saying went. "Oi, Buffy!" he shouted, running after her, "got a moment?"

* * *

Ripper was lounging on the sofa, his long body draped over it. His nose was buried in one of the books on demons that littered the house. Though he may not be returning for a formal education to the Watcher's Academy, he thought he might as well do some reading to keep his knowledge sharp. If he could expose a weakness of any future enemy, especially a magical one, he could use to his advantage. And wouldn't that impress Buffy? Smiling to himself, he turned the page and continued to read on some nasty swamp demon. His mouth chewed heavily on a piece of gum, replacing the cigarettes that he had been trying to smoke less and less. After all, he wanted a certain someone near his mouth.

The door opened, and he sat up, watching Ethan enter. "There you are, mate. It's late. I was wondering where you went off to." It wasn't uncommon for Ethan or the others to disappear into the night as of late. After Dierdre, they all needed their space. The police had taken away her body, and she had been written up as another unfortunate victim of the serial killer who had killed two others in Sunnydale during the laryngitis incident. The serial killer had skipped town, or so the police thought. That they had vanquished Dierdre's killers only brought Philip small comfort. He missed her. Randall had taken it hard as well. He'd often looked up to Dierdre as a big sister.

"I just received some news," Ethan grinned. "We need to have an immediate Summoning of Eyghon. There's some sort of romp going on in the hell dimensions. If we get access now, we'll have the party of our lives." Ripper opened his mouth to protest, but Ethan held up his hand. "Now, now. I've already procured the necessary ingredients. No big party this time. Just us."

Ripper frowned, closing the book and setting it on the table. "Ethan, I'm not sure I ought—"

"What? To have a good time? Mate, you're not with Buffy. You're not with anyone. Thus, you are entitled to have a good time."

Ripper frowned, that stirring beginning in his core. Addictions ran deep. Even magical ones. Still, he tried to argue. "I know I'm not with Buffy. But we're getting on so well. I don't want to mess it up."

"How is this messing it up?" Ethan asked. "By having a right good time in your trousers? If your Buffy is that stingy, I say find someone a bit more fun." Ripper glared at him at that, and he held up his hands. "Now, now. Let's not get our knickers in a twist. If it really bothers you so much, then let's end it. But . . . after tonight. Let's have one last riot, then call it good. What do you say?" he nudged him. "Think of it as your stag party for your eventual, mayhaps relationship with Buffy."

The need could no longer be denied. "Fine," Ripper grunted. "One last time. Who's up to host?"

"Randall," Ethan replied. "He's next in the queue. I'll go get him and you prepare the circle." Ripper nodded and got off the sofa, taking the ingredients from Ethan. Clearing the living room, he made the circle, and then placed the ingredients in their necessary places on the circle. Once it was prepared, the others came down. Even Philip.

"Mate," Ripper gripped his shoulder. "I'm glad you're joining us."

Philip gave a small smile. "Ethan said this was the last romp. We started this together. Dierdre would want me to finish it. I just . . ." Ripper gripped his shoulder tighter in understanding. "Anyway," he sighed heavily. "One last time. For old time's sake."

Randall was given the sleeping drug, and then placed in the middle of the circle. The others took their places. Once Randall was asleep, they began the Summoning. They called Eyghon forth. Ripper felt him take possession of Randall, and the usual incredible hum begin. He sighed, closing his eyes and falling back onto the floor. His body was soaring, experiencing wonderful, euphoric pleasures. It would be difficult to let go of this . . . Perhaps he didn't have to. Maybe Buffy would want to join them . . . a sudden screaming broke through his haze sharply, as if he had been doused with ice cold water.

Sitting bolt right up, he stared wide-eyed at the others, who were scrambling to get up and pointing at Randall. Ripper looked and found Randall convulsing in the circle. "Fuck! Eyghon is taking him whole! Quick, we need to exorcise the demon out!" he shouted through the chaos. Randall's voice was dual-toned—Randall's voice, and then a much lower, demonic bellowing. Ripper grabbed the sage, and the others holy water. Quickly, he found the Holy Bible and turned to the mark page for exorcisms. "Spray him!" he shouted at the others, and then began to recite:

" _In name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit_. _O glorious Archangel St. Michael, Prince of the heavenly host, defend us in battle, and in the struggle which is ours against the principalities and Powers, against the rulers of this world of darkness, against spirits of evil in high places. Come to the aid of men, whom God created immortal, made in his own image and likeness, and redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil. Fight this day the battle of the Lord, together with the holy angels, as already thou hast fought the leader of the proud angels, Lucifer, and his apostate host, who were powerless to resist thee, nor was there a place for them any longer in Heaven."_

His words did little to free Randall, but the demon inside of him didn't seem to like what Ripper was saying. Furniture began to rise and throw itself around the room as the struggle continued. Ethan and the others prayed, doused Randall in holy water and sage, all while ducking a table or chair that was being tossed at them. The English wasn't working. Ripper flipped the Latin version and prayed that he remembered enough of it.

" _In Nomine Patris, et Filii et Spiritus Sancti_.

 _Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio et colluctatione, quae nobis adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritualia nequitiae, in caelestibus_.

 _Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus creavit inexterminabiles, et ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Proeliare hodie cum beatorum Angelorum exercitu proelia Domini, sicut pugnasti contra ducem superbiae Luciferum, et angelos eius apostaticos: et non valuerunt, neque locus inventus est eorum amplius in coelo."_

The entire house was quaking. Ripper could hear the sound of skin sizzling as the holy water burned into Randall. The screaming seemed to be coming from all around them, not just Randall. Suddenly, the screaming stopped, and the shaking did as well. Ripper quieted, and everyone stilled, as Randall got to his feet. His face was deformed, stretched and menacing. His ears had extended and pointed, and there were scorched away parts of his skin where the muscle underneath was exposed. "Fools," Randall spoke, but his voice was low and most certainly not his own. "Did you think you could play and play and never pay?"

Eyghon. Ripper froze for only a second longer, then returned to his reciting, speaking feverishly. " _Adesto itaque, Dux invictissime, populo Dei contra irrumpentes spirituales nequitias, et fac victoriam."_ Eyghon turned to him, laughing. The sound made his very soul shudder in fear.

"Go on. Speak to Him all you want. This is only the beginning. A parting gift for you . . . until we meet again." And then Randall collapsed onto the ground, his face returning to normal, save for the scorched marks. The candles were blown out, and they were left in stunned and violated silence.

"Is . . . is he?" Thomas asked, breathing hard. "He can't—" Ethan was the one who finally moved and touched his fingers to Randall's pulse. All he did was nod, and Ripper felt his entire world sink away. He was left drifting in oblivion, cold and lost. How could this have happened?

' _You know how, you prat. You know exactly how you got here. And you sacrificed Randall for it. All of you. But mostly you. You're the talent with magic. You set him on this path, and when he needed you, you failed him.'_ The thoughts came unbidden, but they saturated his mind. He'd done this. He'd killed Randall. "Oh god," he breathed, lifting his hands to his hair. Just then, Buffy walked in. Her eyes were wide and shining as she looked at the body, and then all of them. Her gaze settled on him, and he rose at the look in them. Blame. Disappointment. "Buffy, I-I-"

"I told you this would happen." Buffy's voice was almost dead-sounding, and Ripper felt his heart grow cold with anxiety. "I told you in no uncertain terms that Randall would die during an Eyghon Summoning. Are you that much of an idiot? You went through with it, anyway? Worst, you let _him_ be a part of it?" Ripper opened his mouth, but no words came out. She waved her hand, cutting him off even if he had tried to speak. "Don't. I can't believe you. I thought you were different. Rough around the edges, sure, but deep down still the man I knew I could count on and trust and believe in." She shook her head. "I was wrong. You're just a poor excuse for a thug." She left on that note, the venom from her words still poisoning his blood as it worked its way to his heart.

* * *

Poor excuse for a thug. It circulated his brain, closely followed by Randall's possessed face, both intent on driving him mad. Ripper sat at the Bronze an hour after the incident, and he was ankle-deep in bottles of beer. Ethan had said he'd take care of the body. He had tried to comfort him about the loss of Buffy and Randall, but Ripper had shoved him off and left. He couldn't stand to be there right now. Not where it happened. Guilt threatened to consume him whole and either make him a lunatic or paralyze him. His eyes were red-rimmed, and not just from the alcohol.

Randall. The youngest of them all. The 'little brother' as they had all come to call him. Always picked on . . . chosen to do the more menial tasks . . . dead because of their desire for a good time. He had been an innocent. Ripper closed his eyes tightly, few tears squeezing out and running down his cheeks. God, what was he going to do? How could he live with himself after this? A part of him told him to run back home. He was safe at home. He could go back to the Academy . . . but he couldn't. He wasn't Giles anymore. The Council would probably keep him from Buffy or something if they discovered what his older self had done. Then what? How could he atone?

Ripper knew he needed to. He'd been thinking it for awhile, that the reason he couldn't save Randall was because his soul was already blackened by the misdeeds he'd already been a part of. The people he had hurt. Killed. Threatened. His soul was black. Randall's death had only damned it further. Someone pure, like Buffy, probably could have saved him. No wonder Eyghon had laughed at him. Ripper sniffled and took another drink. God, and here he was, crying like a little girl. Who was he anymore?

"Rupert Giles. I hoped I might find you here," a voice said from behind him. Ripper looked over his shoulder, wiping his cheek in the process and rested his eyes on a tall, beefy sort of guy. His hair was cropped and spiked at the front, brown, like his eyes. He had this whole brooding thing going on, and Ripper was bored immediately. "Or is it Ripper these days?" the man asked, smirking and sitting on the stool beside him. "It's funny. I met Rupert quite a few times. Tortured him once, even." Tortured? Ripper's eyes narrowed on him. Angel. "And I can see him in you. I understand now why she struggled."

Ripper wasn't in the mood. Not after the hell of a day he'd had. "Look, mate, whatever you're buying, do it and be on your way. I'm in mood to chat," he said, his voice heavily slurred.

"That's too bad. You see . . . Buffy stopped by a few days ago. Wanted to see how Faith was settling in. We had a good talk." Angel's eyes bored into his. "I went to kiss her, just like old times . . . and she hesitated. Told me she was confused about someone. Took some convincing, but she told me all about your situation. How you were here, young and rough and charming. 'He wrote a song for me' she said." Angel scoffed. "I could have written her an album, if that's what she wanted." Ripper's eyes narrowed on him, trying to figure out what the hell this guy wanted. "Anyway. I wanted to meet this new man of Buffy's . . . and here I find him. Drinking and . . . weeping, I think?" Angel smirked, peering at his face.

Ripper quickly growled and became aggressive, his shame turning to anger quickly. "So what? You come to settle something? Want to have a pissing contest? Then let's go, mate. I've had a really bad day, and I'd love to do nothing more than take it out on you." Ripper wasn't stupid. He knew Angel was a vampire, and he was going to have his arse handed to him, but that's what he needed. He needed the violence to clear his head and make the pain go away.

Angel chuckled. "Please. You're just a man. A mortal man. Not even that. You're just a boy now. I'd kill you."

"Not with that soul of yours," Ripper shot back. "Oh yeah, I read all about you. 'Mopey, self-loathing, broody' Angel. Bloody act like you got your bollocks removed. Come on. Let me see those fangs." Ripper could barely stand, but he got to his feet and shoved at Angel. "Too afraid to bring them out in a fight against a man? Only good for wee girls? Performance issues, eh?"

Angel snarled, his face transforming into his demonic one, and he launched at Ripper. He was shoved back through a table and onto the floor. The other customers either gasped, screamed, or ran for cover as the fight broke out. Ripper slammed a beer bottle into Angel's face, watching in satisfaction as the glass cut into his skin. Angel cried out and moved off of him, but only ended up kicking him instead. Ripper grunted, the air leaving his lungs. Rolling, he stumbled to his feet and tried to punch Angel, but he missed entirely, and Angel's fist collided right with his nose instead, breaking it.

Ripper cried out, clutching his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. This enraged him further . . . and delighted him. Thank god. This was something he could deal with. Ripper threw himself at Angel, punching him. They did little effect, and Angel simply whacked him in the face a few more times before dragging his nearly unconscious body out of the bar and into the alley. Ripper wasn't sure what happened after that. He blacked out . . . then came to as they crossed the college's campus. Angel made his way into Buffy's dorm and knocked on the door. Ripper saw the door open and heard her groan.

"Before you ask, no, I did not beat him up because he's your new boyfriend. But here. Thought you might want to keep an eye on him before he tries to fight with the police next," Angel said.

"He's not my boyfriend," Buffy stated, and Ripper felt smaller arms take him into the room. He was rolled onto the bed. His eyesight was a little obscured from a black eye, but he heard the door close and some mumbling occur on the other side as Angel and Buffy spoke in the hall. Ripper tried to get his bearings. He was still trolleyed and could barely see straight from what little he could actually see. Blood was running down his nose to his neck. Ripper searched for some tissues or something and managed to find them just as Buffy entered the room once more. "You're disgusting, you know that?" she spat at him.

Ripper ignored her and continued to take out tissues, pressing them against his nose. There was a long, tense moment, and then he heard Buffy sigh and felt her sit beside him. His head was moved as she gripped his chin and started cleaning him up. "'Oo don't 'ave to do dis," he said, his broken nose making it slightly difficult to be understood. "I in't asked to be brough' 'ere."

"I broke up with Riley," Buffy said out of nowhere. "I . . . I wanted to give us a . . . I thought we might . . . try. See how it went. Ethan invited me. Told me you were all going to be 'chumming out' later. Then I walk in, and what do I see?" Ripper closed his eyes pitifully. Randall. _'God forgive me.'_ "I know it happened. I forgave you once. I can do it again." His eyes opened again, and he looked up at her. "But Ripper, I need to know that this whole 'destroy the world' phase is over. No more Summonings. No more . . . orgies."

Ripper felt his throat aching, his eyes burning once more. "Never again," he rasped. "I'm never touching the Dark Arts again." He saw Buffy nod and felt her return to cleaning his face. But he couldn't stop the words now. "I killed him, Buffy. I murdered my friend. My little brother." The burning in his throat was unbearable, and he couldn't hold it in. Tears leaked down his face, further cleaning the blood from his skin and leaving salt behind instead.

Buffy shook her head. "It was Eyghon. You have to remember that, Rupert. It was Eyghon." Ripper looked down and saw blood on his hands and knew it was not his own. It was not Angel's. It was Randall's. No. It wasn't Eyghon. Not this time. Weeping, he rested against Buffy, and he felt some solace when she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her.

And hold him she did. Even when he eventually passed out from his exhaustion. She held him through the passing of the night.


	9. Blurred Lines

His fingers danced over the selection of CDs stacked on Buffy's desk when the door opened and Buffy herself entered. "You're here? What are you doing here? I thought you left," Buffy stated, looking at him in surprise. Ripper ran a gaze down her. She was wearing a white halter top with low slung black pants today. Rather seventies of her. He quite approved. The fact that she also did not look disgusted with him was also an improvement and something he thoroughly enjoyed. After his night of grief and weakness, Buffy had propped him back on his feet and reminded him it was time to make amends.

So, he had kicked Ethan out of his house for starters. It was obvious to Ripper that Ethan had betrayed him. True, he may not have planned for Randall's death, but he had intended for Buffy to walk in during an orgy that Ripper hadn't wanted to participate in in the first place. He'd purposefully attempted to sabotage his chance with her. Ethan had walked out with a suitcase of clothes . . . and a black eye and broken jaw. The twit could fix it up with magic for all Ripper cared. Ethan had been his mate. His brother. The betrayal stung just as much as Randall's death.

Philip and Thomas had moved out after that as well. Ripper's house had become a graveyard. Two deaths in the same house, both violent. He didn't like to be alone it for very long. Ripper wasn't used to being alone. So, here he was, inspecting and critiquing Buffy's music until she arrived . . . and here she now was. He turned to her, a small smile on his lips. "Willow let me in," he explained. "She wanted me to relay to you that she's currently decrypting some . . . err . . . disc . . . that Spike gave to her. Something in regards to Adam's location and plans. Whatever 'decrypting' is," he grunted. And whoever Spike was. Sounded like a mutt.

"Oh," Buffy said in surprise. "Well . . . good. Maybe we can finally take that guy down. Been a long time coming." She closed the door and walked towards him. "Soooo, you're just hanging about . . . because you missed me, hm?" she smiled, then nudged him playfully.

Ripper gave her a warm look for a moment, his lip pulling up into a smirk. "I thought I might invite you to a night out. Or," he glanced outside and noticed that the sun was up, "some before-night out. I'm not entirely sure my dance moves are appropriate for today's decade, but I've been watching, and I think I've got the new stuff down. Just a lot of over-the-clothes sex, really." He looked down at her, his hand reaching for hers. "Come with me?" he asked. God knew he needed it. The distraction was just what he needed to keep from falling into the pit of despair and guilt over Randall. Whenever he was still for too long, he felt nearly catatonic by drawing too deeply into his thoughts of self-loathing and regret. It was a path he could lose himself down. So, he clung to distraction, and he clung to Buffy.

His outlet had been music as well. Ripper had put his full time into his band, _Wretched._ It had helped a bit, and goodness knew his more depressing lyrics was eagerly eaten up by this new crowd of music-lovers. But Buffy had been his true source of healing. Her smiles and patience with his antics had slowly started to rebuild him. What would he have done without her? Ripper had pondered that more and more often. How did his older self get through all of this without her at his side? What had he done to cope? Ripper supposed he'd went back to the Academy and became a Watcher in truth. Had he still felt guilty? Rotten? Evil? He had to . . . he didn't have Buffy's smiles to return light to his darkened soul.

Buffy eyed him. "Take out the sex, and you have yourself a date." Her eyes widened then, and Ripper nearly hummed in delight when he saw her cheeks flush a pale pink. "Wow. Never thought I'd say that. Date. With you."

Ripper gave her a smirk, "you realize that could potentially be taken as a grave insult?" Buffy punched his arm—lightly, even though it still hurt—and huffed.

"Well, let me get changed into something a bit more Bronzey, and we can go." Buffy moved to the closet and opened it, shifting through her clothes. Realizing that Ripper was still staring, she eyed him. He didn't even blink. She eyed him some more. Ripper lifted an eyebrow. "Hello? Girl about to change? You're supposed to be a gentleman and turn around."

"But I'm not a gentleman," Ripper replied, a devilish look appearing on his features. He stepped towards her, and he delighted when he saw her swallow at his close proximity. "And I really don't want to turn around." Their eyes connected, a blazing intensity making them oblivious to all else in the world. That connection which always existed between them flared and pulsed with excited energy. Ripper's memory turned to their kiss that felt like it had occurred eons ago . . . but the power and heat of it remained scorched into his memory. He watched her eyes drop from his and move to his lips, and he knew she was thinking of it, too.

"Bloody hell," he muttered before pinning her up against the closet wall and fusing their lips together. She was so very tiny. He had to duck his head in order to reach her lips. His mouth was very interested in her lower lip. Sucking it hard into his mouth, his hands gripped her by the waist, being teased by the hint of heat just under her shirt. Ripper felt her hands either in his hair or against the back of his neck. And her lips . . . _god_ her lips were moving against his own. The heat and electric spark that thrummed between them almost hurt in a sweet agony, she felt so remarkable. Buffy released a small mewling sound, her mouth opening just enough, allowing Ripper to take the offense and sweep his tongue inside of her mouth, past her lips. He tasted her and found her . . . sweet.

More. He needed more. Ripper was kissing her strongly, barely giving her—or himself—a moment to breathe . . . Until the door flew open and Willow came rushing in. "Buffy! I've got it! I know where Adam is!" Ripper heard, he did, but he was quite against leaving Buffy's lips. In fact, that seemed like the worst possible idea.

"Mmf! Merrmufmf!" Buffy grunted against him, eventually pushing him off of her. "Ripper," she scolded, then moved out from against him and towards Willow. Grinning, he moved behind her, his hand resting at his hip. Willow was gaping, her jaw extremely close to hitting the floor. "What did you find, Willow?" Buffy asked, obviously trying to move things on from the awkward situation they found themselves in.

"Um . . . kissing. With Giles." Willow kept staring at them, her eyes wide.

"Willow!" Buffy exclaimed. "It's fine. We're . . ." She shifted, obviously unable to find the right words. "Adam. Pressing matter."

"R-Right," Willow blinked a few times. "Yeah, so I cracked the database. The Initiative is in trouble. Adam's going to be making more cyborg demons like himself. The reason the Initiative has had such success? The demons have wanted to be caught. We need to tell them. They're in trouble. Who knows how much time we have before chaos is let loose!?"

Ripper felt the news hit him like a cold slap in the face. They had a real fight ahead of them. "How do we get in?" Buffy asked. "They've likely revoked my entrance code. And Riley isn't exactly answering my calls these days."

"I can get us in," Ripper said quickly, an idea forming. "It will be tricky. Dangerous even. But with some help," he looked to Willow, "I might be able to get us in there." Buffy turned, eyeing him. He knew what she was thinking. "Nothing dark," he assured her. "Just a tad . . . dangerous." She eyed him further, her eyes narrowing adorably. "Trust me!"

"Fine. But Willow, you keep an eye on him," Buffy said.

"Yeah . . . so long as I get a warning about the smoochies next time," Willow said. "What do you need?" she asked Ripper.

Ripper was already putting a mental list together. But first . . . he grabbed Buffy and pressed another kiss to her lips. She made a surprised noise. Breaking away with a grin, he gestured to Willow. "Follow me."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Xander said, holding his hand up. "We're going to Star Trek into the Initiative? Anyone else a little nervous about this?"

"Right. Except not at all," Ripper said. "Transportation involves turning one's mass into an energy pattern, shooting it to a designated area, and then reconverting the energy into matter. Willow and I are simply opening a tear in space and time. Squishing two planes together, allowing us to simply step through . . . and arrive at our desired location."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "I actually understood all of that. I've been hanging around you guys too long."

Willow grinned and nudged her. "You loved it. You're a total nerd at heart, and you know it." Buffy huffed, hiding a smile. "So long as Rip and I perform the spell right, we should all arrive in the Initiative in a second."

"And what happens if you don't?" Xander asked.

"Well, do send us a postcard if you end up at Disney or the Highlands," Ripper looked to the others. "Are we ready then? Time is rather of the essence." His hand rested against the pommel of the sword at his hip. They weren't entirely what to expect on the other side of the portal, so they'd all been equipped with swords and/or crossbows. Xander even had a mace. Melee—particularly that of fencing—had been the one thing Ripper enjoyed at the Academy. He'd excelled at it and loved learning all he could. As such, he was rather eager to see how much he remembered.

Buffy shifted. "Are you ready for the ritual afterwards? The Enjoining Spell?"

Ripper had quite a few misgivings about that part of the plan. Though he wanted to give Buffy every boost that he could, the Enjoining spell relied on four essences to be complete. Buffy was the strength. Willow as the Spirit. Xander as the heart. And him? God, he was supposed to be the _mind._ Just because he mentioned that he remembered some phrases of Sumerian didn't he mean he was prepared for this sort of responsibility. Besides that, he was concerned that his tainted soul might mess things up. It had with Randall, why wouldn't it with Buffy? It was a dangerous spell. Insanity was among the lesser possible side-effects. What if it was fucked up because of him?

"We have everything we need for it," Willow said, pulling up the messenger bag they had stuffed everything in—including a magic gourd.

"I know I'm supposed to represent bravery and everything," Xander said, "but if Ripper doesn't feel like he's capable—"

"He can do it," Buffy interrupted. "He may be missing a few years, but he still has Giles' mind. I believe in him." She wasn't looking at him when she said this, but Ripper looked at her fondly all the same, a warmth expanding in his chest. She believed in him.

"Sod it," he muttered. "Let's get this over with." He nodded at Willow, who placed down the ingredients, and then wrote runes onto the floor with sulfur. Ripper began the chanting, touching into the earth and picturing in his mind's eye the Initiative's main lobby. Concentrating on it, he felt Willow take his hand once she was ready, and her magic coupled with his. He'd never have been able to do this on his own, even with the power he had. He felt it tingling at his fingertips and exposed skin. Using both his and Willow's energy, he ripped space apart, groaning under the strain. Veins popped on his forehead as he opened up the portal. "G-Go!" he exhaled sharply once the portal was open enough. He held it open as Buffy, then Xander, and then Willow entered. Feeling his energy draining and becoming extraordinarily dizzy, Ripper opened his eyes and saw a large black hole before him. Stumbling forward, he ducked inside and tripped over a box on the other side.

The portal closed, and Ripper found himself ducking on the ground anyway as gunfire sprouted over their heads. Men and demons were everywhere, fighting. Bodies were littering the floor along with used ammo shells. Explosions went off left and right. "We're late," Ripper grunted, the toll of his magic making him feel nauseas. He clutched at his stomach and tried to steady himself. Fuck, now was not the time to hurl.

"We need to get somewhere quiet," Willow shouted over the fight.

"And I need to find Adam," Buffy added. "He'll likely be in one of the control centers. Let's move!" Ripper grunted and got to his feet, steadied by Willow, who also looked rather pale. He gave her an appreciative look and followed after Xander and Buffy. The soldiers ignored them entirely, intent on destroying the demon menace around them. Some of the demons found time for them, however. Ripper and Willow were cut off from the others as a pair of demons ran in front of them.

Willow yelped, and Ripper moved in front of her, pushing past his state of dizzied nausea to protect her. Ripper knew it wouldn't be wise to tap into any more magic. They needed it—especially Willow—for the Enjoining Spell. Pulling out the sword at his hip, he held it defensively in front of him. The demon—Polgara, he recognized happily—unsheathed its own spikes. "Right," Ripper eyed the sharp looking weapons and blocked one swipe. He remembered his footwork and dodged back, before attempting to counterattack. The Polgara knocked it away with its other spike and swiped at him again. Ripper ducked his head, feeling the air from the attack move his hair. That bloody close.

Ripper attacked again, trying to cut off an arm at least, so he only had one blade to worry about. The Polgara was onto him, dancing him in close enough until it got lucky and cut into his leather jacket. Ripper's mouth dropped open in sheer offense and dismay as a large strip of leather from the bottom of his jacket fell to the floor. "My _jacket_." He looked up at the demon, fire in his eyes. His lips were pursed and his jaw tight. "That. Cost. Me. Two. Years'. Worth. Of. Allowances!" he snarled, hacking at the Polgara demon in his rage. The demon cowered, blocking his attacks but unable to attack back. Ripper continued to growl, getting in close enough to grab the demon's hand and drive its own blade right through its neck. He gave a wicked smile, almost cruel, using his sword to cut the demon's head off completely. "Riiiiip," he whispered, looking down in satisfaction as the body and head fell, blood pooling.

The other demon started to come at him, but an arrow suddenly pierced right through its head before Ripper could even lift his sword. Looking over at Willow, he saw her lowering a crossbow, giving him a pointed look. "Right. I could have done that," he stated, then allowed Willow to pull him along quickly to catch up to the others. Running over—dodging demons and soldiers on the way—they caught back up to them at an office.

"Quiet enough, Will?" Buffy asked, looking out the door anxiously.

"Yeah, I think so. Probably best we'll get. You go ahead and fight Adam. We'll have your back," she told her.

Ripper felt compelled to grab Buffy's arm and did so. She paused, looking up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, a few things wanting to pop out, a couple of common phrases. Instead, he just closed his mouth and nodded his head at her, giving her an intent look. _Be careful._ Buffy smiled lightly and gave a light nod. _I will._ She leaned up and kissed his cheek, then opened the door and disappeared. Ripper stared after her, the longing to go after her and watch her back nearly overwhelming. But he knew if he wanted to help Buffy, he needed to partake in this ritual—and get it right.

Willow finished setting up the ritual, and Ripper took his place. The cards were presented to each of them. Ripper lit the final candles and recited what he needed in Sumerian after Willow spoke the words in English. Nothing happened when Willow said, "Primeval One." But when Ripper followed with, "merga," he was suddenly shot out of his own body.

It was confusing. There was so much information and sensation coming at him at once. He didn't even know who he was, where he was. He was endless, formless. At some point, he ended and felt someone else . . . and then others. The others! They were relying on him. He was the mind. He had to sort through this, make sense of it all and help them. Ripper found Willow's essence in the sea of nerve triggers and emotions and pain. He helped her find her form, reminded her of her duty, and he felt her leave to her place. He did the same with Xander. Each time, he realized more of the form he resided in. Buffy. He was connected to her spirit, heart, mind and strength. God, the strength. But that was Buffy's territory.

He felt her around him. All around him. Somewhere, he felt Willow powering up for some heavy magic and Xander strengthen Buffy's resolve. His turn. He directed Buffy to the weakest point in Adam's anatomy. With her strength, and the help of all them, she punched through Adam's chest and pulled out the uranium core that powered him. Ripper thought quickly. Uranium. Controlled explosion. He sent the information to Willow, who finished powering up and used a spell to destroy the core. Adam fell at Buffy's feet. Their feet.

One by one, they left Buffy's body. Ripper lingered. He could feel himself starting to slip away from her, but he needed . . . he needed her to see. So, he presented to her mind's eye the image of her as he saw her. Radiant. Powerful. Beautiful. Kind. Good. A soul white and unblemished. The sun rose behind her, but she glowed brighter. This was what he saw when he looked at her. She was the light. The sun just a jealous mockery. Ripper tried to convey his feelings for her. He was an idiotic ruffian, and though he hadn't wanted to admit—after all, he did have a reputation to keep—it wasn't something he could deny any longer. He cared for her. A great deal. Far more than he cared for himself, and that was saying something.

He wasn't sure if she got the message, he was slipping quickly away, and back to his body. With a jolt, he came to and opened his eyes, looking at the others. Xander and Willow looked as shocked and disorientated as he felt. He tapped his fingers, then lifted his arms, running a hand through his hair and messing it up. Himself. He knew he was, and where he was. He felt his body respond to his will. Alone. He was alone in his body. "Are we all back?" he asked. "Everyone in their right bodies?"

"What!?" Xander felt himself, his hands grasping at his chest as if he had suddenly grown breasts. "There was a chance I might have been in someone else's body!? Not good. I'm barely responsible in my own!"

"We did it," Willow beamed. "We really did it!" Buffy came out shortly, looking tired and beaten up, but happy. Ripper rose and went to greet her. She warded him off with a look, Riley stepping in behind her.

"He was being controlled by Adam," Buffy explained. "I found him in there. They were going to make him like the rest of them. He's hurt."

"I'm okay, Buffy," Riley protested, holding his hand to his chest where a large gash was gushing blood. "Just need to get patched up. You guys did good. Better than what I can say for the Initiative."

Buffy gave him a concerned look. "I'm going to help him get to the hospital." Ripper's chin lifted immediately, eyes narrowing. That . . . he didn't like that. He stared Riley down. Victim or not, he best not be trying to play the injured warrior card to try and butter Buffy up into taking him back. "You guys go ahead," she eyed Ripper, "back to my place. Tell mom we're having a sleepover. We've earned one." Ripper gave her a questioning look. Had she received his message at all? Was she going to come home later with Captain America on her arm? They'd snogged! Was she really going to put him around the ringer again? Ripper wasn't entirely sure he could handle this teasing much longer. This constant hot and cold switching.

Reaching into his pocket, he moodily took out a stick of gum and shoved it into his mouth, chewing angrily. Willow pulled on his arm, and he turned, glaring at Riley and following Xander and her out of the Initiative. They passed through the quiet halls, bodies strewn about the place. Whatever the Initiative had been, it was a war-torn mess now. Fires burned away what work had been performed, and bullets, fangs and claws had destroyed the machinery. It was pretty obvious that the place was officially shut down.

After they reached the surface, Ripper followed the others sullenly to the Summers residence. He had never met Buffy's mum before, but she greeted Willow and Xander warmly. After assuring the anxious mother that her daughter was fine, she allowed them in and started to cook up some popcorn for them to munch on. Ripper continued to chew his gum, his hands in his jean pockets, occupying himself by staring at photographs of Buffy and her mother on the bookshelves that lined the living room. "We've met before, you know," Joyce said from behind him.

Ripper glanced over his shoulder at her. The others had settled into the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn and were starting up the TV. He moved his gaze from them back to her. "Yeah? Funny, I don't remember it."

"Buffy told me the whole thing. Pretty crazy. But here you are. I'd recognize you anywhere." She bit her lip, looking like she was about to admit something she wished she didn't want to. Ripper wondered why she bothered then. "There was some . . . candy . . . once. It made all the adults revert to their teenaged-state minds. Mr. Giles . . . I was visiting him at the time when it happened. He turned back into . . . well . . . you." Ripper lifted an eyebrow. So, old boy had finally remembered what it was like to have fun for a bit, eh? Good show. "Ripper." He smirked. Well, at least someone didn't hesitate in using his _correct_ name. Ms. Summers scratched the back of her neck. "Well, long story short, we were going steady for a brief time."

Ripper stopped chewing his gum immediately, nearly choking on it instead when he inhaled sharply. Oh _shit._ Ripper ran an eye over her. She was a bit out of his age bracket now, not to mention the fact that she was _Buffy's mother._ What the bloody Christ had he been thinking? Well . . . likely nothing past the thought of thighs and breasts, probably. "Obviously, I don't expect . . . Mr. Giles and I are—were—very aware that our personalities and relationship needs didn't quite 'groove' together as it were. Too awkward. So, I don't—"

Just then, the door opened. "Mom?" It was Buffy. Joyce stopped talking and hurried over to her daughter, hugging her. Ripper was still rather reeling. Her _mother?_ Awkward didn't even begin to describe it. He was just sodding glad _he_ wasn't the one who had those memories. That was all on his older self. He was innocent in this matter. "Hey, guys," Buffy said as she entered the living room, her mother on her arm.

"Hey, Buff. How's Riley?" Xander asked.

Buffy headed in Ripper's direction. "He'll be okay. Just trying to figure out what to do with his life now that he doesn't have a mission statement to serve." Ripper watched her, his brow furrowed suspiciously right up until she stood before him. "Mom, I wanted to introduce you to Ripper . . . my boyfriend."


	10. A Dream Within a Dream

The word 'boyfriend' falling easily off of Buffy's lips catalyzed a moment of chaos in the Summers' living room. Around the same time that Xander spat out, "WHAT!?" from the couch, Joyce had tensed up, her face frozen, and then she promptly fainted. Buffy caught her, crying out in alarm, and Willow was choking on the popcorn, having been spooked by Xander's shout. In the midst of this, Ripper stood . . . beaming. Boyfriend. He was Buffy's boyfriend now. Boyfriend of Buffy, the Slayer.

"Ripper, stop looking so smug and help me!" Buffy snapped, and he promptly got out of his head and stooped, picking up Joyce's feet. Together, they carried her upstairs to her bedroom. "I hope she's okay," Buffy said worriedly, checking her mother's temperature via forehead after they set her down on her bed. "I didn't expect her to faint." She made a funny face, her nose wrinkling. "You'd think telling her I was dating a vampire would have caused this sort of reaction. Not a . . . former-old-guy-turned-teenaged-hoodlum."

"Oi," Ripper messed with his hair subconsciously. "Not old. Never old. Yet." He checked himself in the mirror, making sure his hair was just the right correct of messed. Pleased, he looked back at Buffy's mother asleep on the bed. He knew exactly what had caused that reaction. It wasn't every day your daughter revealed she was dating someone you had once slept with. Not that he had slept with Joyce. No, that had been his older, naughty self. "I'm sure it was just my rugged good looks. They've been known to drop women into a dead faint at times," he tossed a smirk towards her.

Buffy rolled her eyes, crossing to him after checking her mother one more time. She grabbed his arm and lifted it up, wrapping it around her shoulders herself. "Sure it wasn't from stinky-cigarette-mouth? Or boredom-by-egotistical-conversation?" she teased right back. "They might have also just fallen asleep waiting for you to get your hair right. You take longer than me, I swear."

Ripper scowled, but then brought his lips to the top of her head. "Whatever. Let's go have some of that popcorn before it's finished up. I'm famished." Leaning against her, he led the way downstairs and back into the living room. Willow and Xander immediately eyed them suspiciously. "What? We haven't been shagging . . . yet." Buffy elbowed him. Ripper grinned, leading her towards the armchair. "Have we decided on a film to watch? Better be bloody exciting. I expect great things in this new decade of film entertainment."

Dropping onto the armchair, he pulled Buffy next to him, the two of them snuggled up with each other. Her head rested back against his chest, and he smiled lightly at the simple physical intimacy. He hadn't had this sort of affection in a long time. Normally, it was just shag and discard. But this? This was good. "Perfect movie," Xander said, dragging his gaze off of them and grabbing the remote for the VCR. " _Apocalypse Now_. One of the classics."

Ripper settled in, watching the beginning credits. Noticing the copyright year, he lifted an eyebrow. "A Seventies movie. So, we're watching a perfect film that was made during _my_ time?" He paused, smirking. "Clearly, some of the best things came to be in the Seventies."

"Are you _sure_ there's enough room on this chair for the both of us? Your ego is sure taking up a lot of room," Buffy mumbled.

"If my ego squishes us closer together, I can't see any wrong in that," Ripper purred, snuggling her against him pointedly. Buffy mumbled something, but she relented and rested her head heavily against his chest. In fact, the room became quiet very quickly as attention fixated on the TV screen. Ripper, who was surprised with how coherent he had been given how exhausted he actually felt, rested his cheek against the top of Buffy's head. He felt her even breaths on his chest and knew she was asleep. Glancing at the others, he saw they had fallen asleep either. No one would be upset if he slept as well then. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the bone-deep exhaustion and fell asleep. After all, they were safe now.

* * *

Even the loudest guitar riffs couldn't deafen the sounds of Buffy's moaning and panting against his lips. Ripper was utterly lost in her lips. Clutching her to him, he was busy sucking her lower lip and nibbling it to notice that a spotlight had directed itself on them. The music quieted, though the cheering did not. Resurfacing from his snog with Buffy, Ripper looked about him. Hundreds and hundreds of people were around him, staring and cheering. Looking down at Buffy, he gave her a confused look. Where were they? Buffy, her lips slightly swollen from their passionate snog, leaned back from him and presented his guitar to him practically out of thin air. "Your destiny is waiting for you," she told him. "It's up to you to chase it."

"Buffy?" Ripper, took the guitar from her. The cheering became louder. The spotlight moved, landing on a set of stairs that led up to the stage where the band was waiting. Ripper reluctantly left Buffy's side, climbing the stairs. Once he was close enough to them, he recognized the faces. Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce. Cream. Cream was playing. He was at a concert. Clapton clapped him on the shoulder.

"Lead us in, mate," he said.

Ripper's eyes widened in shock. Lead . . . lead _them_ in!? Quickly, he shouldered his guitar and plugged it into the amp. The audience went wild, ramped up for the performance. Ripper grinned and started the building guitar lead into _Tales of Brave Ulysses._ The crowd roared and rocked at the sound of his guitar, and then the lyrics. Ripper hit each note perfectly, shredding with the others and killing it. The crowd jumped and head-banged.

The adrenaline jumping through him was unbelievable. This beat every high he'd ever experienced. When the song ended, he felt an irresistible urge to crowd surf . . . and so he did. Ripper launched himself into the crowd, soaring just for a little bit . . . until he hit grass.

' _Grass?'_ Ripper was about to sit up before two children suddenly swarmed on him. "Daddy!" the eldest of the two, a girl and about aged five, cried, covering him in grass.

"Da! Da!" the other, a little boy dressed in a tiny tweed suit and newsboy cap squealed, covering him in grass as well.

Ripper blinked. " _What_?" Sitting up, he looked over the two children. The girl was sporting long blond locks that curled at the end. She was dressed in a little frilly dress and tennis shoes. The boy, about three, was indeed wearing a full tweed suit, a little tie to go with it. He had blond hair as well, a few soft wisps of hair escaping his cap. Both had a noticeable dimple in their chins.

"Elizabeth Joyce! Rupy! Leave your Daddy alone and come back here. Your sandwiches are ready!" He knew that voice. Ripper turned and spotted Buffy sitting atop a blanket. She was older. Hell, he was . . . ' _Wait a moment . . .'_ he reached for his face and came away with glasses. He was wearing glasses!? Fuck, he needed them, too. Everything was so blurry. Pushing his glasses back onto his nose, he watched the children run back to their mother. Except for . . . Rupy . . . he sort of waddled and tripped over the tall grass. They were sitting in a sort of meadow or . . . grazing field.

Ripper pushed himself to his feet, looking down at himself. He was wearing tweed, too. Ugh, he felt so . . . _scholarly._ Looking around himself, he saw that the meadow went on for a few acres. A small village could just be seen down a sheep path. A forest sat nearby. It looked quite like the Cotswolds. "Ripper!" Buffy called. "You, too. Your tea won't stay warm in the thermos forever, you know."

Hesitating, he moved forward slowly towards them. What the hell was going on? Where had Cream gone? The fans? Why was he all . . . _old?_ Making it to the blanket, he sat down with the trio and watched them all warily. Buffy handed him a plate filled with finger sandwiches. Oh, those looked good. He loved finger sandwiches. Such simple things to eat. He took one and started eating. Just then, his face was grabbed by the five year old. "The forest is scary, Daddy," she told him. Her small hands barely covered his cheeks. Ripper felt an odd tugging at his heart. Was this . . . _his_ daughter? His children? With Buffy?

"Evil things live in the forest," Rupy, or he assumed, Rupert Jr. said. "No one . . . go . . . there," the rest of his speech was lost in garbled three year old nonsense.

The girl, Elizabeth, released his face and went back to eating. Ripper resumed chewing his sandwich, feeling entirely out of place. All of a sudden, Buffy cried out, "Elizabeth! No! Get her, Ripper!"

Dropping his sandwich at the sudden shout, he turned and saw Elizabeth running into the forest. How had she gotten there!? She had literally just been sitting next to him. Jumping to his feet, he ran after her. He had no idea what was happening, but that was his daughter, and nothing was happening to her on his watch. Terror laced his heart as he rushed to the line of trees. Ducking in, he looked for her. "Elizabeth!" he called, panting hard. "Elizabeth! Where are you!?"

"Ripperrrrrrrrrrrrrr," came whispering on the trees. He froze, the hair sticking up at the back of his neck. "Ripperrrrrr." It was a sickening sweet caress in his ear. It made him feel ill . . . and anxious. "Come plaaaaaay." He didn't want to move. His legs were paralyzed to the ground, but he also felt that if he didn't move, he was about to die. Horribly.

With great effort, he moved one foot in front of the other, stepping deeper and deeper into the forest. It was dark now. The sun had disappeared, and there was hardly any moon to light his way. At some point, he had lost his tweed and returned to his t-shirt and leather jacket. The sound of snapping twigs made him jump, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Every nerve in his body was taut and telling him he was being watched. His hands curled into fists. No! He wasn't the prey. He was a predator.

"Come on out then!" he shouted, pleased that his voice didn't tremble. "Let's have it!" There was a ruffling in front of him, and the bushes moved to the side as a figure stepped forward. Ripper's eyes widened when he realized who it was. "No . . . You're in Hell!"

Eyghon chuckled, the sound alone wilting flowers and killing the trees around them. He wore Randall's face, though it was perverted and distorted as it had been during his possession when he had been taken whole. "Where do you think you are, boy? I heard you were tampering with forces that shouldn't be played with again. You are a junkie, aren't you?" he chuckled.

"No," Ripper growled, his body tightening up, preparing to attack. "I've put that behind me. Put _you_ behind me."

"Oh, Ripper," Eyghon chuckled. "Weak though you are," the demon circled him slowly, "you'll always have a love for the darkness. For the kill. You're cold now. _Mine._ I'll always follow you everywhere you go. A shadow in everything you do . . . every decision you make. That's why _she_ felt it."

Eyghon was behind him now. Ripper was prepared to duck and attack when he needed to. "Her? Who?" he asked. Suddenly, he was shoved onto the ground, face-first. Well, he supposed he wasn't as ready as he thought he had been. Grunting, he spat some dirt out of his mouth and looked up at a . . . "Who are you?" he breathed. She looked primitive. Her skin was dark, but she had white designs drawn about her face. The woman just stared at him. Ripper pushed himself up to his knees, examining her. She was exuding some . . . primal . . . aura. She was old. Very old. And powerful. It was a wonder it was contained in this form.

In his head, he heard Eyghon's voice. _"She must be alone. You've tainted her. All of you. The Slayer works alone."_

Ripper barely had time to shudder before the woman was on him. As she sliced his head open, he realized through the pain who he was dealing with . . . but blood ran down his face, over his eyes, and he was lost in darkness.

* * *

Waking with a jolt, Ripper was trapped under a heavy body. His head was pounding . . . but still in place. Looking wildly over at the others, he saw them staring wide-eyed back at him. Buffy finally woke and looked around at everyone. "So . . . did anybody just have the weirdest dream of their life?"

"Uh. That's putting it mildly. My _heart_ was ripped out," Xander said, rubbing his hand over his chest.

"Yeah, well my everything was sucked out," Willow mumbled, holding herself.

They looked at Ripper expectantly. "Oh! Um. Head. Yeah, it was cut open. Intense, scary woman, right?" They all nodded. "I had this thought . . . A bit errant now that I think about it, but it felt . . . the feeling I got from her . . . I think she was—"

"The First Slayer," Buffy answered before he could.

"Oh, well spoil the moment of brilliance, why don't you?" he huffed.

"She spoke to me. Told me I had to fight alone. That the Slayer doesn't have friends," Buffy continued.

"What did you do?" Willow asked quietly, looking at her anxiously.

"Told her to," she glanced at Ripper, "sod off. I'm stronger with my friends." Ripper smiled and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back into him. "Do we have any idea why the First Slayer is paying us all a little nighttime visit?"

"Um," Ripper rubbed his head, thinking. "I think it's likely because we all joined forces in the Enjoining Ritual. It . . . perverted the primal source that rests in the Slayer's power. Apparently, the First Slayer lives—in some diluted form—in every Slayer." He lifted his chin proudly at this show of intelligence. Bravo for him.

"Hm," Buffy thought aloud. "Perhaps that's something to look into . . . but later. For now, I'd like to sleep without any ancient beings visiting my dreams." The others murmured in agreement to that, and before long, they all passed out properly once more.

The next day, they split off their separate ways for a time. Except for Buffy and Ripper. They left the Summers' house and headed into town for some ice cream. "Do you want to go to the beach afterwards?" Ripper asked. "I can hotwire us a car and drive us over."

"Tempting," Buffy smirked. "But let's tone down the criminal activity for awhile. We _did_ just blow up a secret American military bunker. Besides," she nudged him playfully, "you need to buy me like . . . three ice creams before you're allowed to see me in a bikini."

"Woof," Ripper blinked, running his gaze down her. Yes, that . . . could easily be imagined. "Probably best, really. I need to tan a bit more before exposing myself to the sun. My fair English skin will blind anyone who walks by in its current state."

"Sexy," Buffy laughed.

"Glad someone said it," Ripper ducked his head and stole a kiss from her. Her mouth slanted against his, opening up for him without hesitance. Ripper swept inside, lightly running over her own tongue. He swallowed one of her moans, his body zinging, a trail of fire heading south. His teeth dragged against her lower lip as he pulled back, biting it lightly and tugging it towards him. She made some sort of gasp garbled with a moan, and it made a purr rise up in his chest. Releasing her lip, he looked into her eyes and saw heat there. It wasn't right to be this attracted to someone. It wasn't _fair._ "So . . ."

"Right. Ice cream. Cold. Ice cream." Buffy grabbed his hand and led him quickly down the street. Ripper admired her arse for most of the walk, since she insisted on dragging him at a fast pace. His thoughts drifted to his dream though . . . Had any of that been prophecy? Was Buffy the one he'd settle down with? Put his lady's man days to bed for good? Become a proper gentleman and tweed-wearing bore for? Though he had been bewildered by his surroundings, Ripper knew he had felt a . . . contentment there. A good wholesome contentment. Well, he wasn't going to wear tweed. They could compromise on that. "Tweed? You want tweed on your ice cream?" he heard Buffy ask.

Looking up, he saw her confused look and realized they were standing in front of the ice cream vendor. He must have been muttering aloud. "Oh. Chocolate mousse, mate," he told the server, placing his hand at Buffy's back and rubbing her there lightly, his fingers drifting, feeling the grooves of her spine through her shirt. Collecting their ice cream, they sat at one of the picnic tables outside, enjoying the warm sun. It was a bright day. Perhaps made brighter by love's radiant light. Or maybe that was just Buffy's smile. Ripper smiled to himself, licking at his cone.

"So," Buffy said after a few minutes of eating in a comfortable silence. "Do you ever think you'll . . . go back? To the Academy? Become a real Watcher?" Ripper lifted an eyebrow. Well, that was left-field. "I mean . . . you know some stuff. Last night, you showed that when you talked about the First Slayer. I'm sure if you explained to them what happened, they'll accept you. I mean you did it once. Second time should be a cake-walk, right?"

Ripper considered her words, still licking at his ice cream. Become a Watcher in truth? Go through all of the studying . . . the physical training . . . He still loathed the Council for how they used people so ruthlessly and callously. "I don't know," he said, finally. "I'd have to get back into Oxford, too. Get a degree in History. Don't suppose Oxford has become wicked in the past two decades, hm?"

"Um . . . I don't know if colleges . . . become . . . evil . . ." Buffy stated hesitantly.

Ripper blinked for a moment. "Never mind. I'll be honest, Buffy. I'm not interested. The thought of going back there is actually pretty revolting. It's more than just sitting and studying. The people are . . . _horrid._ Biggest bunch of self-righteous hypocrites you'll ever meet. And they don't care about you or me. We're just wooden pieces on a board."

Buffy licked at her cone, frowning a little. "Well . . . I think it would be a good idea if you studied up. I mean I guess you probably can't continue your studies, anyway. Technically, Giles was fired."

A look of surprise showed on his face then. "Giles . . . was _sacked?_ " Mr. I-Have-Sacrificed-All-My-Fire-To-Be-A-Watcher-Drone?

"Yeah. He disobeyed the Council last year," Buffy smiled lightly.

"Well. Far out," Ripper grinned, quite proud of himself. Sticking it to the man. "But see, what's there that I need? Knowledge? Easily obtained in books. Didn't you guys spend most of the time looking through books, anyway? I'll study up on those . . . but I don't see myself returning to Oxford, Buffy. That's not who I am."

"No," she said quietly, looking him over thoughtfully. "No, you're . . . my Ripper." He smirked devilishly, leaning forward to kiss her. She tasted sweet from her ice cream. She seemed to think something similar, for he felt her tongue slip into his mouth this time. Ripper moaned in surprise, extremely aroused by her display of boldness. They kissed a bit longer, before they parted and returned to eating their ice cream.

"Mm. How's university going then?" Ripper asked.

"Oh, you know. I missed a lot at the end, so I'm thinking I'm going to just drop—OOF!" she was cut-off as the picnic table was suddenly thrown backwards, both she and Ripper falling onto their backs, their ice cream cones splattering on the grass. Dizzied, Ripper slowly pushed himself up and looked to see what had happened. A man dressed in black stood where their picnic table had been. The table was now five feet from their heads, shattered into wooden shards. "You made me drop my ice cream!" Buffy exclaimed, kicking up to her feet in one move and getting into a fighting position.

"Come here, Slayer. I've got something sweet you can lick," the man sneered. A few others joined him, also all dressed in black.

Ripper didn't like that. He got to his feet and growled, charging towards him. He shoved his fist into the man's face. He succeeded in landing the blow, and the man grunted, his head snapping to the side . . . but then he turned back to Ripper, and his face was deformed. It was a demonic visage . . . a vampire. Ripper froze in confusion, looking at the others behind him. All of them were deformed with pointy fangs. Vampires. Vampires in the sun!

"Buffy . . ." Ripper said uncertainly over his shoulder. The vampire grabbed him and threw him back. Ripper crashed into the broken picnic table, grunting in pain. Something pointy was stabbing into his back. Buffy had thrown herself into battle, fighting the vampires off with a series of kicks and leaps and punches. Ripper disentangled himself from the table, pulling splinters out of his arse and back. Fuck, it hurt, too. "Buffy!" he shouted, grabbing one of the larger splinters and tossing it to her to use as a stake.

She caught it with one hand, then twirled gracefully and shoved it into a vampire's chest. She relaxed, but only for a second. Ripper tensed as well when the vampire didn't turn to dust. "What-?"

The vampire pulled the stake from his heart, laughing. The others laughed as well. "Silly, Slayer. We've come a long way to find you." It was then that Ripper realized they were speaking in a familiar cadence—they were English. "Let the Crusade begin." Buffy kicked the vampire away from her, flipping backwards, then running towards Ripper. She grabbed his hand, and they ran off.

"Ripper. I staked him. I staked him and he didn't die! AND THEY'RE WALKING IN THE SUN. What the hell is going on!?" Buffy cried out as they ran for Ripper's house.

"Did you hear that? They're English!"

"Ripper!"

"Right. Let's just get home. We'll find something about it, I'm sure," Ripper panted back, not nearly as good at running these marathons as Buffy was. Especially with a tummy full of ice cream. They made it into his home, and they find Willow and Xander there, watching television lazily.

"Guys—" Buffy puffed as they burst through the door. "We have a big prob—"

"THE BRITISH ARE COMING!" Ripper shouted.

" _Ripper!"_


	11. The Legend of King Arthur

"They didn't follow you guys, right?" Xander asked nervously, checking through the blinds of Ripper's window, peering out on the terrace. "I mean . . . vampires that can walk in the sunlight . . . I'm sure things like the Invitation Right still apply . . . right? Guys?" he asked, turning back to them anxiously. "Anyone?"

"I don't know, Xan," Buffy said, finally. She was perched in Ripper's armchair, a heavy book in her lap. "I mean Ripper and I threw everything we had at them . . . and nothing worked. It's . . . scary. A vampire that can't be Slayed by a Stake. I mean who gave them the right to evolve?"

Ripper looked up from his book. "I'm not sure 'evolve' is the right word to use, love." He stumbled through the stacks of books they had made in their mad search for answers towards her. "I think I've found it." He'd been fixated on the fact that the vampires were English. True, it wasn't rare for a foreign vampire to cross the pond and take up residence, but it was the dialect of English that truly took his notice.

"What have you got?" Buffy asked, eagerly closing her book and sitting up.

"Well," Ripper scratched his head. "It's in Latin, and I haven't . . . I mean it's been awhile since I've translated, so give me a few moments here." His brow furrowed as he looked over the inscription, trying to recall what this word meant when put grammatically before that word and so on. He could feel the pressure of all their eyes on him, and he looked up. "Do you mind? I require some space to think." They quickly averted their eyes elsewhere, and he returned to translating.

"Uh, guys!" Xander called. "They're found us." Ripper looked over at him. Buffy jumped up and joined Xander at the window. Willow hunkered down further into the sofa. "They're just standing there . . . I think we're safe . . . so far."

"All the same, I'll feel better once I know how to kill them," Buffy muttered, leaving the window and approaching Ripper. "Anything?"

"Well, legend says a man works faster after receiving a kiss from a beautiful woman," Ripper replied, not looking up from his book, but smirking all the same. He could almost feel Buffy's usual rolling of the eyes, but he did in actuality feel her lips press into his cheek, lingering. She rested her head against his arm after that, looking down at the book as well.

"Did it work?" she asked.

"Yes, but I had it figured out a minute before you started walking over here," Ripper grinned at her. She smiled, elbowing him. "Alright," he placed his hand on the book, "according to this, we're dealing with vampires created . . . during the reign of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere."

"Ooo!" Willow perked up immediately. "Like knights and shining armor? Jousts? Turkey legs!?"

"Quite. Except the tale of King Arthur told to the public is vastly different from what actually happened. You see, in the public history version, it was Arthur who wielded the great sword Excalibur and defeated the foes who stood against him and the might of Camelot. The real story is that Arthur was actually a Watcher. Guinevere was a Slayer in these times. They worked together and eventually fell in love." He felt Buffy smile against his arm. "Together, they reigned in an era of peace. So effective were they in Slaying evil, that Camelot—the castle which served as their Headquarters—became the safest place in the entire world. Guinevere's prowess and Arthur's wisdom allowed them to not just fight evil, but rule the common people they protected as well. It was a Golden Age in Slayer history."

"But?" Willow prompted, her eyes wide and hungry for the story.

"But . . . one day a new evil arrived at Camelot. Mordred was his name. A vampire who became obsessed with destroying Camelot and all it stood for. He found the woman whom Arthur had once rejected, giving his love to Guinevere instead. Her name was—"

"Morgana!" Willow exclaimed.

Ripper gave her a look. "Yes, am I telling the story or—?" Willow zipped her lips, grinning. "Right. Morgana. Mordred found Morgana and promised her revenge on the man she had loved fiercely, but was only passed over for another. His seduction worked, and Morgana allowed him into her bed. Now, it says that after one coupling, Morgana grew heavy with child. I think this is a bit poetic. They shagged a lot, and Morgana somehow became impregnated by a vampire."

"Is that . . . possible?" Buffy asked, looking up at him. "I mean, vampires are dead. They can't just . . . give life."

"I expect there was some sort of nasty ritual involved," Ripper agreed. "Whatever they did, it worked, and the spawn of the unholy union was born . . . the Solii. Vampires with the ability to walk under the sun. They made more of their kind until Mordred had an army. Arthur and Guinevere tried to fight against them, but each attempt only ended in disaster. They had no way of killing these new vampires. So, they sought out the help of an old friend, a Warlock, named Merlin. Together with him, they forged a new weapon . . . Excalibur. Armed with this new weapon, Guinevere led her army into one final battle against Mordred." Ripper gestured to the book again, "it says the reported dead has many different accounts as to the actual number. But there were a lot of dead people. From here, it's get a little . . . confused. Both Arthur and Guinevere die in this battle, but the Solii are also vanquished. Something about . . . placing the sword in a ritual stone . . . sending the Solii into an eternal slumber."

"Not-so-eternal slumber would have been more accurate," Buffy sighed, stepping away from him. "So, we have it. We need to find Excalibur. It's the only thing that will kill these guys."

Both Willow and Xander were grinning at this point. "We're going on a quest!" Xander burst.

"Oh-oh-oh! Can we wear costumes!? Let's get armor! And ride horses!" Willow turned to Xander, and the two beamed at each other, waving their hands around in a most excited fashion.

"Right, you _do_ realize England has changed a bit over the years, yeah? Armor and horses went out of fashion somewhere near the Industrial Revolution period," Ripper reminded them, lifting an eyebrow in mild amusement at their excitement.

"Yes, says the guy from the 1970s. How do _you_ know what kids are wearing over there these days?" Buffy prodded him.

"What do you mean?" Ripper huffed, fixing his still-torn leather jacket on his shoulders. "70s fashion will never go out of style. It's the perfect clothing line one could ever want. Why change?"

Buffy bit her lip, approaching him. Ripper straightened. Why did she always make him feel like the prey? He was so used to the opposite. Her arms slid up over his shoulders, and he instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "If you ever wear those tight-fitting gold disco pants . . ." she began, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Heat began to prickle its way down . . . down. Swallowing, he tilted his head. "Mhm?" he prompted, lowering his head, brushing his nose against hers and seeking a kiss.

". . . I will happily take you to the fashion police, where you'll be arrested for one of the greatest fashion faux pas in history. You'll probably be executed for it," she told him very solemnly . . . and very frankly. She gave his chin a little lick, and then stepped away. Ripper was left feeling very aroused and amorous. He gave her a heated look, his blood quite warm and lit. ' _Bloody tease,'_ he thought to himself. ' _She deserves a good spanking.'_

Before he could have a crisis in front of everyone, Ripper returned his thoughts to the problem at hand. "We need to get to England. I have a place for us to crash there," he paused, "or . . . at least I think I do. Unless my older self sold it off. Which would be bloody foolish if he did. We just need to get there."

"And more importantly, get past them," Xander added, pointing towards the window. "Ideas?"

Scratching his head, Ripper thought for a moment. "I think I have one . . . but it's dangerous."

* * *

"OI, LOOK AT ME! I'M A DELICIOUS, RASPBERRY-FILLED ENGLISH TART!" Ripper shouted, bolting out of the apartment and through the terrace. He shoved the group of vampires as he passed, feeling quite like the Rugby player. They looked over at him in shock and confusion. Ripper glanced back, noticing that a few were standing, unsure if they should pursue him. "COME ON, YOU DOZY, PO-FACED, SHITE-FILLED BUNCH OF NANCIES! YOU WEE COWARDS!?"

Well, that got them moving. Ripper nearly tripped over a table in his rush to escape the enraged vampires who were now passionately charging after him. "Alright, I think that worked a little _too_ well," he panted, taking off down the street. Glancing behind him, he swallowed when he saw they were closing . . . and quickly. Throwing himself at break-neck speed, he ran for his literal life, ignoring the stitch growing in his side. There were no stitches when your life was on the line. His shoes hammered on the sidewalk as he dodged passers-by, jumping a few benches that were in his way.

Eventually, he made it into a park, his legs turning into rubber. He couldn't even feel them anymore. Breathing desperately, he glanced back one more time. They were nearly on his heels. It was now or never. _'God, I hope this works.'_ Ripper took the adrenaline coursing through him and used it as his energy source. Much as he had before when he'd made a portal into the Initiative, he connected with the proper essences. This was going to be tricky, though, as he had never physically been where he was trying to go to.

So, in an attempt to be both specific yet vague, he ripped open the space before him and ran through the portal, closing it immediately. Falling onto the ground, he lay, exhausted. His chest rose and fell rapidly, acid in his legs and lungs. "Oh . . . fuck," he choked. He was never running that much again. His head was spinning . . . but the fact that he still had his head was a good thing. Looking over himself, he saw all appendages were intact and accounted for . . . except for one thing. "Where the fuck are my sodding clothes!?"

He was stark naked. Not a stich on him. Ripper looked around desperately. He was lying in a parking lot just outside of the airport. Quickly, he sat up and cupped himself with both hands. "Fuck!" His clothes had obviously not made it through the portal. Mourning the loss of his jacket, he got to his feet and ducked behind car-by-car, trying to make his way towards the front of the airport. He hoped the others had made it. He hadn't been the bait for shites and giggles.

Staying low, he crouched behind a parked car, watching the drop-off and pick-up part of the airport. Cars kept zipping in and out, and there were people everywhere. He couldn't infiltrate that. Working off his last bout of energy, Ripper broke into a car and grabbed the suitcase nearest to him. Quickly, he grabbed clothes at random and put them on.

Walking into the airport, he searched for a bit until he found his friends gathered at the London, England gate. Willow saw him first. She hit her hand against Buffy's shoulder a few times, pointing over to him. Buffy looked, then hurried over. Ripper felt a very poignant bit of pleasure when she ran right into him, her arms wrapping around him. He returned her embrace, kissing the top of her head. "Easy now. All I did was run," he teased. Together, they rejoined the others.

"Ripper, why . . . are you wearing a 'I Survived Y2K' shirt?" Buffy asked, lifting her head and looking at his attire in confusion.

"Ah," he looked down. "I thought that . . . was a band. Um. Right. I'm not using that spell ever again. I made it through, but my clothes didn't. I'd rather not chance it again and lose an actual limb," he said. Ripper needed a cigarette after that experience. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Nicotine patches. Putting one on, he then grabbed a stick of gum and chewed it worriedly. "Are we all set?"

"Yeah, just waiting for the plane to be called. We're lucky we got in so early. Or, well, we would be lucky if I hadn't hacked into their system and gotten us seats," Willow added with a rather proud look.

"Yeah, good work, Will," Xander nudged her. "Are we sure no one followed us here? I'd hate to be thousands of miles in the air and suddenly find us under attack."

Ripper shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they were all following me. But I was a bit busy . . . running." And god, was he tired. It was a good thing it was a long flight. He needed to sleep. Resting heavily against Buffy, his arm around her waist, he looked down at his shirt. "What is Y2K, anyway?"

"Nothing important," Buffy insisted, snuggling into his chest. Ripper pressed another affectionate kiss to her forehead.

That reminded him. "Speaking of important," Ripper lifted his head and looked at the others. "You remembered to bring my guitar, right?"

"Yes, we got your guitar in," Xander rolled his eyes. "Not sure how effective it will be against fighting vampires, but we have it."

"A musician never leaves his instrument behind," Ripper stated sternly. Just then, their gate was announced for boarding. Ripper took his ticket and newly-fabricated passport thanks to Willow and lined up with the others. In a matter of a few minutes, they were sitting in a plane and taking off for London, England.

Resting in his seat, he looked out the window curiously . . . or what he could see out the window, anyway. Buffy had wanted the window seat, and after a great deal of pouting and teasing, Ripper had given in to her demands. The ground below had been replaced by endless clouds. The wing of their plane touched it . . . danced upon it, even . . . He'd wanted to be a fighter pilot once . . . There was something about soaring through the sky that was beautiful to him. Transcendental. His hand reached out past Buffy and pressed against the window. He wanted to run his fingers through the clouds . . . feel their wet kisses.

Buffy's hand covered his, and she laced their fingers together, bringing their hands to her lap. "You're going home," she told him.

His lips pulled to the side in a noncommittal smile. "Funny word 'home.' Never really felt it there. Only things I felt there were pressure and anger. I'm not sure how I feel about going back." He knew he wasn't comfortable about it. It was too close to the Council, for one. But more than that . . . it reminded him of all he had left behind, and why he had left it behind. England was nothing but a wound to him now. Buffy was running her thumb soothingly over his hand.

"I never really knew what home was either," she admitted quietly. "I mean my Mom and Dad were great parents. 'till Dad left the picture, anyway. But even then, Mom was as supportive as she could be . . . as much as she knew how. But eventually, when I was Chosen, I had this big secret I had to keep from her. All those lies start to build up, you know? And the place you're supposed to feel content and safe and supported in . . . becomes less so when you have to lie to your mom about where you're going at night." Buffy sighed, then looked up at him. "And then I met my Watcher. Big nerd. Bigger glasses. And he understood. Took me awhile to get what he was saying, but he didn't give up on me. And I found someone I didn't have to pretend with in any aspect of my life. He knew the girl and the Slayer." Ripper offered her a small smile, his turn to stroke her hand affectionately. "And I loved him for it . . . and then he went through a weird transformation, became stupidly hotter and rougher, and made me love him even more. In a way I didn't think I could feel. Silly girl . . . Slayer. . . and young adult. You've checked all the boxes."

And then her eyes widened. "Oh god. Did I just—"

"—Say you loved me? Yeah, it's alright. I can pretend I didn't hear it if you want me to," Ripper shrugged casually, giving her a smug smirk.

"Stupid mouth! Yes. Forget I said it. We're taking our time with this," she told him sternly. "No rushing. You're not even supposed to know your level of attractiveness to me until like . . . date ten, so—mmmmm," the rest of her words were silenced by his lips. Ripper felt the familiar thrill of delight as he kissed her, tongue swept into her mouth. His heart was beating rapidly. Not from the kiss, but her words. Love. What a silly word. A word he really shouldn't care about. Ripper scoffed at silly things like love and flowers and rainbows. But that word touched his soul. It made him want to _giggle_ of all things!

Well, he'd give her something to giggle about, that's for sure. His hand released hers, pressing his palm against her thigh instead. It was about time she got a taste of her own teasing. His lips became far less innocent and chaste, and instead grew in passion and fire. Buffy started panting against his lips, wiggling in her seat as he passed his hand "innocently" against the apex of her thighs. Lucky for him, she had chosen to wear a skirt, which made the manipulation all the easier. When he boldly pressed his hand against her core through her skirt, Buffy broke from her lips and released a heavy breath. "Ripper," she warned him, her face wonderfully flushed. "Are you _really_ sure this is the best place for that sort of play?"

The naughty smirk on his lips was all the answer she received. Buffy rewarded him with a breathy moan as he rubbed into her, fingers moving in circular motions. The heat was practically radiating off of her. Ripper tilted his head. "Tell me to stop," he whispered in her ear. He felt her shiver against him, and so he experimentally licked the lobe of her ear, and then pressed his lips to the spot in her neck just under her ear. Buffy practically melted, her legs opening in response.

"Do it, god, just do it," Buffy panted heavily, obviously trying to get some sort of grip on herself. Ripper ran his teeth against her skin, delighting in the shaking and trembling he felt from her. Reaching for the airplane blanket, he covered their laps with it, and then started to undo the little buckle to her skirt. Buffy, in her urgency, grabbed his face and kissed him with such fire, he was shocked the cabin didn't set aflame. Ripper met her urgency with his own, lips and tongue battling valiantly. Once he had unbuckled her, he slid his hand underneath her skirt and released a low moan in his chest when he found her slick. Quite slick.

Moving her knickers to the side, he ran his fingers over her soaked folds, grinding into her. Buffy jerked against him, clutching onto him the best she could and grinding herself into his hand as well. "Shh, now," he whispered. "You must be very, very quiet, Buffy. Do you understand?" She whimpered and nodded, her thighs trembling and pressing as wide as they could in the cramped seating arrangement. Ripper hummed in approval, and then slid a finger inside of her tight core. She released a heavy breath, and Ripper could have crowed in joy. She was hot here. Her core pulsed around him, milking him a bit as well.

His wrist started to move, his finger thrusting in and out of her, touching and running into the soft tissue inside of her. Buffy was struggling not to cry against him, her mouth on his shoulder, biting down. It hurt, but the pain was definitely worth it. Warming her up to him, Ripper rested his cheek against her forehead, listening and feeling her heavy panting as he fingered her. He was at it for awhile, feeling her shake and occasionally tremble hard, but these little orgasms would never satisfy him. No, his Buffy needed to be blown away. She deserved nothing less. So, he slid a second finger inside of her, feeling her stretch accordingly. Buffy made a rather adorable mewling sound against him, and he kissed her forehead.

"Remember to breathe," he whispered to her, and then curled his fingers inside of her. It took a bit of searching, but he found the rougher patch eventually, pressing his fingers into the little pocket. He felt Buffy tighten up immediately, a sharp breath leave her. "Breathe," he whispered, thrusting his fingers into the spot over and over.

"Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . oh my god," Buffy kept whimpering, her hand moving to clutch at his back, fingers digging into his shirt and the flesh underneath. She was pulsing hard now, and wetness kept leaking past his knuckles. Ripper was breathing rather heavily himself. This was extraordinarily arousing to him. As he continued to press into her G-spot, he began to rotate his wrist, moving his fingers in a corkscrew motion. Buffy quite enjoyed that, if her sudden hip-bucking was anything to go by. "Ripper . . . Ripper!" she whispered sharply, and then tightened up against him. Ripper released a low groan as he felt her walls clamp around him, undulating. Her cum doubled, rushing past his fingers and dripping down his hand. The sounds became quite wet afterwards as he thrust her through her orgasm.

Only when he felt her body relax, did he stop his ministrations. Slowly, gently, he pulled his fingers out of her, replacing her skirt tenderly. Buffy was leaning heavily against him, still flushed and panting hard. They were likely that those around them had their ear plugs in and were watching the in-flight movie. Ripper removed his hand from under the blanket, licking the remaining honey from her core off with little licks. Honey, indeed. Once she had recovered enough, Buffy pulled him to her and pressed her lips warmly against his. As they kissed, Ripper became very aware of a terrifying fact.

She held an incredible amount of power over him. She could destroy him.


	12. Excalibur

**Author's Note: Happy Christmas, everyone! This chapter has been owed for some time now, so I made it extra long to make up for the delay, as well as a little gift for you all. Enjoy and have a brilliant holiday!**

* * *

The traffic was incredible. Travelers bustled to and from the airport, bumping into one another in a mad dash for a cab or their awaiting airplane. Ripper had led them into the line of awaiting travelers to grab a cab. "You two are being awfully cuddly," Xander's voice rang out, making Ripper look down at Buffy, who was snuggled up against his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist. He shot her a knowing smirk, and she quickly flushed and gave him a warning look.

"Let's not turn green now, Xander. I really don't think it's your color," Ripper said instead.

"Who's jealous? Me? I'm not jealous. It just so happens I have a crazy ex-vengeance demon waiting for me at home," Xander said.

Ripper looked over at him in surprise. "Really? You've got yourself a bird?"

"Yes. Why is that so surprising?" Xander huffed. "I just . . . don't really get to see her all that much. Since I keep being pulled in to help save the world and all." Well, that was news. Did Willow have herself a boyfriend, too? She was quite quiet on that front, choosing to look around intently instead. "But just because no one has seen her, doesn't mean she doesn't exist!" Xander continued on desperately.

"Hm," Ripper grunted noncommittally and finally managed to secure a cab for them. They loaded up their things, and then packed inside. "Bishops Avenue," he said to the driver, reaching into his pocket to check his wallet for money. Xander and Willow had their faces plastered to the windows, looking out at the city as they passed. There were a few new things for Ripper to see as well. "Well . . . that wasn't here before," he murmured, looking at the large Ferris Wheel. The Eye of London.

Eventually, they turned on Bishops Avenue, and Ripper felt his cheeks start to tingle in embarrassment as his companions saw wealthy estate after wealthy estate pass. "Wait . . . Giles, you're like . . . a _king_?" Willow asked, staring wide-eyed at the large homes.

"Please. Never," Ripper rolled his eyes. "My family is simply . . ."

"Rich as a king," Xander finished for him. "I mean _look_ at these houses!"

Ripper shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's my family's house." He hadn't used any of his family's money when he had left the Academy. He'd been on his own and so used his own wit and wiles and talents in magicks to earn his keep. That, and he had quite the reputation to keep. His bad boy, ruffian lifestyle looked rather questionable knowing his parents had a nice, secure home with a large bank account.

Eventually, they pulled into the drive, and Ripper brushed his hand through his hair. They got out of the cab, Ripper paying the driver, and then walked up to the house. It was . . . large. Three floors, brick house with a round-circle drive that led up to an ornate door fixed under a decorative arch. Chimneys dotted the rooftops, a few of them smoking. Windows dotted the house, their panes white as bright as the day they were first installed. The grass and hedges surrounding the house was precisely cut and trimmed. The house had an old-feeling, as though it had been here for years, but its sheer power and status had allowed it to survive the ravages of time and history. As far as Ripper knew, it had been in his family for a century, at least. There had always been a Giles in this home.

To Ripper's extreme embarrassment, the front door opened as they approached and an elderly man and woman rushed out. They were older than he remembered . . . but he knew their faces. "Master Rupert!" the man said in surprise. "You . . . how . . . !?"

"Yes, I know. Young face and all that. I time traveled. You know how magic can be," Ripper said quickly. "You're both still alive then, yeah?"

The man snorted. "Brusque as always, Master Rupert. You should have called beforehand, we'd have had the house prepared."

"I didn't think I'd still keep servants," Ripper grunted. "Apparently, I thought a little too highly of my older self. Well, here we all are. Everyone, this is Mr. Bryans, the family butler. And this is Mrs. Marigold, the housekeeper."

She clicked her tongue at that. "I'm not just the housekeeper, Rupey." Ripper winced. "I'm also the cook, and I was your nanny when you were just in buckles," she reminded him firmly. "And now look at you. I thought I was done with seeing your messy hair and eyeliner and torn jeans. What's this now? It isn't as though you're too poor to buy yourself some soap and a nice set of clothes."

Xander was trying to mask his laughter behind his fist, which was stuffed into his mouth. Buffy was sharing significant looks with Willow, who was biting her lip. Ripper crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, we're here to stay for a day or two. We've business in England, and then believe me, I'll be out of your hair in a tick."

Bryans shared a look with Marigold. "Well, all the same. We're here to serve. If you'd all gather in the study, Mrs. Marigold and I shall prepare your rooms," he said, ushering them inside and taking the ladies' luggage himself. They entered through the wide arch and thick-wooden doors, and into a tall, grand entrance. A grand staircase greeted them on the other side of the entrance hall, spiraling up to the next floor. The hall split off into two separate halls. Whilst Bryans carried the luggage to the left, Ripper led the others down the right hall.

The walls were richly decorated and ornate. Deep blues and reds interrupted by large portraits of past family members or masterful paintings of the English countryside. Ripper felt the portraits' eyes on him as he passed, the feeling of disappointment and disdain keenly felt. He hated this house. His dreams had been crushed here. He'd suffered years of strained conditioning and preparation. He'd had numerous terrible fights with his father here. Yeah, this place was shite.

Pushing the door open to the study, he heard Willow gasp behind him as they walked through. "It's like . . . like _Beauty and the Beast!_ Look at all of the books!"

Ripper glanced around. "Yeah, they're alright." Shelves upon shelves of books were stacked from floor to ceiling. A large ladder with wheels was hitched to a rail that went around the entire room, so one could reach the top most books. This room was mostly oak with a few Edwardian throw rugs on the floor. Despite the fact that the bookcases went up to the ceiling, it was actually a rather small room. A desk was positioned in front of a window, an extinguished fireplace facing it on the other side. Ripper ignored this desk and the papers that were neatly piled atop it.

Instead, he walked over to one of the bookcases and examined the titles. Which ones was it? Ah. T.S. Elliot and Lovecraft, that's right. Ripper pulled them both at the same time, and the bookcase swung to the side. "Ah yes, secret passage!" Xander exclaimed. "Do you guys have a dungeon, too?"

"If we did," Ripper stopped and looked over his shoulder at him, "and I told you . . . I'd have to kill you."

Xander laughed nervously. "That's a joke. That . . . is a joke, right?"

"Yes, Xander. That's where we keep the kinky sex toys," Ripper said casually, leading them down a set of stairs and into a much larger room. It was clear that this was a study much more fitted to the Giles' family occupation. Skulls and other jarred body parts—human and not—were neatly stacked along shelves. Ancient texts were carefully bunched together along bookshelves. Weapons were hung on the walls and displayed in glass cases. Ripper knew this room well. Before he had left for the Academy, his father had trained him in this very room. Hours had been spent here . . . reading, practicing weapons, practicing magicks, disciplining when he hadn't done something right. He shivered from the cold memory.

"What are we looking for?" Buffy asked, taking an interest in some of the pointy weapons.

"My father had maps. I think one of them might show us where the site of Camelot used to be. Excalibur and Camelot tend to go together. If we can find one, we can find the other," Ripper explained. He opened his father's desk and pulled out some rolled maps.

"Wasn't Camelot in like . . . Cornwall or something? I remember a Cornwall," Buffy walked over to the desk, peering at the maps. The three of them looked up at her in surprise. "What?" she asked, offended. "I watched the movie. Lancelot was pretty."

"You're pretty," Ripper replied with a grin, pulling her to him and kissing her temple. "And I think you're right. Cornwall is the most cited source for Arthurian legend. There are a few discrepancies, of course. Some scholars who want to wave their historical willies around come up with new theories to get their name out there, but those who know anything . . . know to look at Cornwall." He pulled out a map of the region and spread it out onto the desk. Buffy maneuvered in front of him, getting a closer look at the map. Happily, he pressed up behind her, his arm falling around her waist and the other leaned against the top of the desk.

They examined the map, pointing out smudges that they thought might be a reference to Camelot, but only to find that they were just, in fact, smudges. Hope was beginning to fade, when Xander snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Merlin's hole!" he pointed to a tiny little drawing in the water beside a landform. "I would say if Merlin has a hole, we had better investigate, and that sounded way more terrible than I had originally thought it would be," he nodded confidently.

Ripper looked at the spot Xander had found. Sure enough, there was a little drawing of a cave with the scribbled text "Merlin's Hole" written above it. It sat beside another drawing of a ruined castle. "Tintagel," he murmured. "Hm. Well, that's . . . odd. Tintagel has been tourist attraction for years now. Surely somebody would have investigated that cave and found an old sword sitting in stone there by now."

"It might have some magic guarding it," Willow piped up. "Invisible to the ignorant eye and all that." That was plausible. Archaeologists, though loving the idea of secret buttons and riddles, weren't exactly instructed on the finer points of the mystical arts.

They looked at Buffy expectantly. "Well . . . it looks like we have our quest."

"We'll drive one of the cars there tomorrow morning," Ripper added. "I'll send Bryans out for some supplies. It's a bit of a drive." Good. Business was done. Did he get to snog now? Buffy slipped away from him before he could make any move, resuming her appreciative and hungry looks towards the weapons.

"Ah, Master Rupert," Bryans appeared at the door. "Your rooms have all been prepared. Dinner shall be served in a half hour." They dispersed after that. Willow and Xander went off to explore the home and their rooms. Ripper was rather curious to see what had become of his room since he'd up and grown up. Did he use his parents' room as his own now? Or one of the other guest rooms? He certainly hoped not. Heading upstairs, he walked along the hall until he reached its very end. Opening the door, he stepped into his room . . . and smiled.

Posters of rock bands still clung to the walls. His band equipment was huddled in a corner. The only real difference from what he knew was that there were more bookshelves filled with books, a much larger four-poster bed, and a closet full of tweed. The rest was him. "Alright, Giles," he nodded, hopping on his bed, "glad to see you didn't completely lose your touch."

As the urge for another cigarette arose, he popped on a patch and stared up at the ceiling. Home. He couldn't believe he was here, in the very place he had sworn to himself that he'd never return. It was different though. His father wasn't around. Nor was his grandmother. Had they both passed away? Or were they simply living elsewhere? Was he the only Giles left? The last of his line. The thoughts were troubling and making him feel things he didn't like to feel, so he quickly murmured a, "sod it" and rolled on his side, looking over at a shelf that still contained his collection of model fighter jets.

Reaching over, he picked up his model Gloster Meteor F.3 and ran his thumb lightly over a wing. How different his life would have been if he had signed up for the Royal Air Force. _'If you'd done that, you'd also never have met Buffy.'_ He sighed at that. For all the trouble this life was . . . Buffy more than made up for it. She was his beacon. Ripper knew he had nearly lost himself to darkness. Hell, even now it clung to his soul and mind. Buffy kept him from going too far. He needed her. He may not love the world or the people in it, but he didn't want to become a monster either. He was already a murderer . . .

"There you are." Speak of the devil. Buffy came in holding two fencing swords. She looked around the room curiously. "So, this is where my Watcher grew up. Very different from a Slayer's bedroom. Less stuffed animals. More . . . books." She jumped on his bed and looked at the plane he was holding. "You know, you could have mentioned to me that you were basically Sir Giles of Buckingham Palace," she teased. "This place is huge! I got lost trying to find the bathroom! And then I found out there are _ten!_ On one floor alone!"

A small chuckle left him at that. "Yes. When your home is full of the elderly, you need to make sure there is an accessible loo within reach at all times." Buffy took the plane from him, inspecting it herself. He looked her over, the dread in his stomach dissipating as her light washed over him. Reaching his hand forward, he lightly placed it on the middle of her back, as she was laying on her tummy. "Have you seen your room?" he asked. He wasn't sure where Bryans would have placed her, but any room here was roughly the size of her and her mother's rooms combined back at her home.

"Mhm. Felt like a Princess the moment I went in. It has a fireplace. In my _room._ I am so making S'mores in there tonight," she grinned. Inspecting his plane, her brow furrowed. "I never asked you before . . . Why did you want to be a fighter pilot?"

"Hm?" Ripper lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, I just had some fanciful idea when I was young. Like any young child born in the 1950s, I was raised with a firm appreciation for the heroes of World War Two. I spent much of my youth going to functions with my father for veterans of the war. Many of them were pilots who told me their fantastic war stories. Soaring over war-torn earth, diving in to save the day at the last moment. I was . . . enthralled. I wanted to fly. I wanted to touch the clouds. Most of all, I wanted to be the hero." Ripper smirked at the irony. "I suppose I was a bit prone to fancy. I imagined myself swooping in to enemy-infested towns and cities and saving the innocent townsfolk. They'd pin medals on my chest and claim me Hero of England."

Buffy looked at him thoughtfully. "You wanted to be a hero."

Ripper felt the magnitude of her words. "The dreams of children, Buffy. That's before we understand all the red tape and lack of humanity in people. Before we understand that the universe has a plan for us and freewill is nothing but a ruse."

"I don't know about that," Buffy said. "And it's funny, because I wasn't exactly sold on the destiny thing either. But . . . you wanted to be a hero. And that's what you are. We just don't get medals for it," she added with a small smile.

"Or shiny fighter jets," Ripper grunted, but he leaned over and kissed her in quiet appreciation for her words.

"Mmm," she smiled as he pulled back. "Too bad. Can you imagine it? Shooting down stakes from one of those? It'd make the job a lot easier."

"Mhm." Ripper agreed, his mouth too busy to form words as it started kissing and suckling into her neck. His hand crept under her shirt, resting against the hot flesh of her back. He felt Buffy purr and shiver, and then quickly roll away.

"Ah, ah. Nope. Beds and-and kissing? I know where that leads. I came here for a reason, you know," she said, flushing.

"I bet you did," Ripper smirked wickedly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and leaning towards her. He knew her pleasure now. It was an addicting experience. A low hum came from his chest, and he steadily moved closer to her, sliding along the bed towards her.

"Not . . . not _that,_ " Buffy was quite a pink color now. She stumbled off of the bed and hurried over to the swords. "I had hoped you might want to train."

Ripper relaxed back on the bed, amused by her flustered state. She was adorable. "We can train if you want, yes. I know swords." Pushing himself up, he caught the one she tossed over to him and followed her out of his room. Ripper took the lead and brought them into the display room for medieval weapons and armor. Suits of armor lined the room, some holding weapons, all polished, a few were even dented. The walls were covered with swords, spears, javelins, maces and other assortments of medieval weaponry.

Taking out his fencing sword, he stretched and performed a few maneuvers to warm himself up. "Ready?" he asked, holding his sabre in the ready position. Buffy nodded. They stepped towards one another in unison, neither attacking at first. Ripper watched her form, keeping his eye out for tension. She seemed to be doing the same. They circled, two predators sniffing out the weakness in the other. Ripper playfully reached out and touched his sabre against hers, the sound clinging in the room. She was quick to draw back and twirled, bringing her sabre quickly in an attack to his back. Ripper moved his sabre to block, giving her a look of pleased surprise.

His turn now. He jabbed at her side, drawing her attention to her left, and as she moved to defend herself, he quickly twirled his wrist and attacked at her right instead. Buffy cartwheeled, kicking his blade away. Grunting in both approval and astonishment, he followed after her. Their blades met, quick taps and blocks. Buffy might have had held the upper hand in most physical attributes, but Ripper had been training with the sword for most of his life. If he could beat her at anything, it would be this.

And he was bloody determined to, too. When she flipped backwards, he charged with an attack, but she must have anticipated this, for during her flip, she grabbed his sabre with her shoes and wrenched it out of his grasp, throwing it behind her. His sabre embedded itself firmly in the wall behind her. She righted herself and pointed the tip of her sabre against his chest. They were both panting and hot. Buffy moved first. She dropped her sabre and jumped on him, knocking him down onto the floor. Their lips met furiously, the heat of a good fight charging them.

As she firmly straddled him, he grabbed at her shirt and back of her head, keeping her against him. The fencing had switched from swords to lips. A battle was really the only way to describe their furious snogging. Though Buffy kept him firmly down on the ground, Ripper was giving his all in dominating the kiss. She was quick to change maneuvers, however, and gave him a sharp grind with her hips, dragging her against him. Ripper released a sharp, surprised moan into her lips. Her teeth latched onto his lower lip in victory, nibbling teasingly. Ripper was entirely astounded by this woman. She left him completely breathless.

"Master Rupert, do stop fornicating. Dinner is served," came a snooty voice.

Their lips parted with a loud _pop!_ and Ripper looked over to see Mrs. Marigold at the door. Groaning, he let his head fall back on the floor. This was killing him. Desire was dancing in his veins and heat trickling down his skin. Buffy looked quite pleased with herself. She got up happily and wrenched his sabre from the wall. "Come on, _Rupey,_ it's time for dinner," Buffy teased.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Ripper tossed her a half-heated glare. "You realize you're in for a spanking, right?"

"Not if . . . youdon'tcatchmefirst!" Buffy exclaimed and tore down the hallway.

"Bloody hell!" He shoved himself up and ran after her. He caught her in the end. They both pretended that she hadn't slowed down in order for him to catch her. So, he caught her. "HA!" He grabbed her around the waist and heaved her up over his shoulder. Buffy shrieked, not expecting to be picked up like a sack of potatoes. His hand came down and gave her a right two good spanks across her arse, to which she vociferously complained. "I'm sorry. Am I oppressing the Colonist?" he asked, carrying her in this manner all the way to the dining hall.

"Give me liberty! Or give me . . . more spanks," Buffy ended quietly, wiggling on his shoulder. Ripper chuckled and set her down once they reached the table.

"No spoiling the child, off you go. Eat your greens," he instructed her. Ripper plopped down onto his chair and ate with the others. Bryans had returned with their supplies after dinner, and they mapped out their journey before heading to bed.

* * *

"LIFE IS A HIGHWAAAAAAY!" Xander bellowed out in song, his head out the window of the speeding car. The radio was blasting, making it almost impossible to hear one another speak, but everyone could hear Xander. Buffy and Willow threw empty juice cartons and other odd bits at him to shut him up. "But I was just getting to the best part!" he complained, sitting properly in the backseat next to Willow. Ripper turned down the radio, much more relieved that he didn't have that vocal sore in his ears. "Are we there yet? This is taking forever," Xander groaned. "I hate being cooped up so long."

"This is nice. Just look outside at all of the English country," Willow told him. "It's so green!"

"It was green back in Sunnydale too, Willow," Xander pointed out, clearly unimpressed with what he was seeing.

"Yeah, but . . . this is _English_ green," Willow countered.

"I'm still wigging over driving on the wrong side of the road," Buffy said from the passenger seat. She kept flinching whenever a car passed them. "How do you drive like this!?" she exclaimed at Ripper.

"Easily. It's you lot who got it all backwards. Typical Americans, always needing to be different," Ripper replied, pushing his foot down on the petal hard. They were soaring down the road. There was hardly ever any coppers on these country roads, so he didn't worry about letting the car go as much as it could give. Willow didn't seem to like that. She squeaked and made funny faces whenever the car surged forward quickly after a turn.

"Hm. Well, it's time for some new tuneage," Buffy declared and was about to pop in a CD . . . when Ripper noticed the name on it.

"Hold on. No. We are not listening to that," he protested. "There won't be any Spice Girls in this car, so long as I am driving," he said firmly.

"But why!? They're British!" Buffy defended them passionately. "And they're peppy! We need pep!"

"Buffy, I adore you, but no," Ripper stated. He wouldn't be caught dead with Spice Girls pouring out of his car. He was pretty sure that was a circle of Hell.

"Hmm," Buffy pouted. "This is grounds for divorce," she informed him. "Not sharing the CD player. I listen to your angry music. It's my turn now." Ripper glared at her. "Don't look at me like that. It's not going to work. Besides, if it's only intolerable while you're driving . . ." she trailed off.

"NO!" Willow said quickly. "I mean," she retracted quickly at Buffy's narrowed gaze. "It isn't . . . you don't have a license here, Buffy. And like you said! It's on the wrong side and all that. Not a good idea."

"No," Ripper said, and he slammed on the breaks, stopping the car. "I want to see this." He got out of the car, and Buffy eagerly followed suit. "My lady," he opened the door for her, smirking, and then got in the passenger side. Buffy took the helm and lurched forward, then stopped, then lurched forward again and kept going. Spice Girls started playing in the car. Xander sang more passionately than he probably should have.

Buffy was blasting down the road. Willow was holding onto the backseat for dear life. As the car went faster and faster, Ripper felt an adrenaline rush taking hold. Her turning left much to be desired, the abrupt angle she turned at nearly made Ripper hit his head against the window, but he laughed and urged her to go faster. Buffy was quite enjoying herself as well, singing to her music and using that Slayer strength to push down the petal. Ripper opened up a window and stuck his torso outside, cheering. "Woooooooooo!" he shouted, his hair a mess by the wind.

Then he noticed something odd. A car was coming up from behind them. It wouldn't have been odd if they weren't pushing well past the speed limit. "Uh, everyone," he pushed himself back into the car, "I think we've found ourselves a scuffle." Sure enough, the car drew up alongside of them, and a vampire leaned out from passenger side, front and back. They had swords in their hands and were trying to jab it through the windows at them. "Buffy, speed up!" he called to her.

Buffy did so, but the vampires met them pace-for-pace. One of the swords managed to shatter the backseat window where Xander sat, but he dodged the blade just in time. "Weapons!" Buffy exclaimed. Willow dove for the duffle bag and pulled out swords of their own. Xander quickly took one and hit the other vampire's sword away. "Ripper?" Buffy asked, trying to disrupt the vampires from managing to pierce into the windows again.

"None of these weapons are going to do them any harm," Ripper said, trying to think quickly. Xander still struggled with the vampire, the both of them hanging half-way out of the window and trading blows. The other vampire was still trying to stab at Buffy. "There is one thing we haven't tried. Holy water. It may not stop them, but if we can slow them down enough . . ."

"On it. Take the wheel," Buffy said. Ripper slid himself under her, momentarily placing her on his lap as he replaced her feet and hands on the petals and wheel. "Got it?" At Ripper's affirmative grunt, she let go and crawled to the passenger's seat. "Water bombs, Willow. Arm me." With the grenades in hand, Buffy crawled out of the passenger side window and stood on the top of the car. Ripper tried to keep the car as smooth as possible. She waited, and then jumped onto the vampires' car. Immediately, a few swords started driving up through the roof, trying to get her. She dodged quickly, looking quite like the cat.

"Come on, Buffy," Ripper murmured, hating that he felt rather useless at the moment. "Willow, you got anything?" he asked her.

"I mean . . . I might be able to damage the car, but it will take its toll. I might not be of much use, if we need a big spell to unlock Merlin's Cave," Willow said.

Ripper chewed his lip. "Do what you can."

Willow nodded and climbed out of her window as well, sitting atop the car. "Buffy!" she called over to her friend, who was still jumping and dodging. "Throw them in! I'll increase the surface area, but you'll need to get back over her right after!" Buffy nodded and cartwheeled to the front of the car. She punched a hole in the windshield and then threw the Holy Water grenades inside. As she jumped back to their car, Willow tapped into her magicks. The bombs exploded, and she quadrupled the size, creating a hurricane of Holy Water within the car.

As Buffy landed beside Willow, the vampires' car spun out of control. It ran into a ditch and stopped with a loud _CRASH!_ Ripper looked out of his rearview window, but he didn't see anyone crawl out of the car. Slowing his own down, he stopped carefully, so Buffy and Willow could get back in. Once they were, he hurried them forward once more. "Do you think they're dead?" Xander asked, patting Willow congratulatory on the back.

"No," Ripper shook his head. "Only Excalibur can truly kill them. If anything, they're just too hurt to move right now. They'll heal, and then be after us again. We need to get that sword," he finished in a whisper. Looking over at Buffy, he saw her holding her hand. "You alright there, love?" he asked in concern, reaching for her.

"I'm okay," she said, showing him her hand. It was a bit cut up from her punching into the windshield. "Once I get the glass out, I'll heal pretty quickly, too," she said.

Ripper brought her injured hand to his lips and gently kissed over her wrist. "You did well, love," he smiled at her. "And you too, Willow," he added louder, looking in the mirror at her. "Hurricane-in-a-car? Bloody nice." Willow beamed, quite pleased with herself.

"Hey! I did stuff, too!" Xander pouted. "Some recognition would be appreciated."

"You were an excellent distraction, Xan," Willow told him. "Buffy and I would have had a difficult time on the roof if you hadn't kept that one vampire busy." This pleased Xander enough. He nodded and held the sword in a manner he probably thought looked manly and knightly.

* * *

The rest of the drive was uneventful, thankfully. They arrived at the Tintagel Castle, Ripper parking the car in the tourist area, and they joined up with the group being taken into the Castle's ruins. As their guide droned on and on about the history, they lingered in the back. It was difficult to sneak away, as there weren't very many places to hide among the ruins. When they reached the cliff edge, the guide paused. "Down below is a sea cave we call Merlin's Cave," she explained. "The cave completely passes through Tintagel Island to Tintagel Haven . . ."

Ripper turned to the others. "We're going to have to climb down. I'll work on the guide. You lot head over there." He made his way to the front of the tour group, focusing on the guide. He locked eyes with her and briefly merged their minds. She was easy to hypnotize and influence. All he had to do was extract the image of the four of them from her mind, and then suggest she take everyone else to another part of the castle. Ripper remained as the guide ushered everyone away, seemingly normal. He withdrew from her mind and headed for the others.

"We have a bit of a problem," Buffy said when he reached them. "The stairs are washed away at the bottom. We're going to have to climb down those boulders," she pointed to a large rock that rested diagonally against the beach below. The stairs disappeared a few feet from the boulder, meaning they'd have to jump the gap. "We still have some time before high tide, right?"

"If we hurry," Willow added.

"Let's get going then," Ripper led the way, testing each step as he descended. His hand pressed against the rocky surface, nails digging in now and then when his feet slipped on a slimy step. The sea crashed against the cliff side below them, a few drops of water even reaching up to them and splattering their clothes and skin. Buffy held onto the back of his shirt with one hand, Willow holding Buffy's shirt, and Xander holding Willow's shirt. When they reached the gap, Ripper braced, and then jumped over it, landing on the boulder. One of his feet slipped on the surface, but he caught himself and wiped his forehead. "Watch the boulder. It's slippery!" he called back to them.

Crouching down, he scuttled down the boulder towards the beach, pausing to find footholds sturdy enough. Eventually, he reached the beach, looking over at the opening of the cave. The water was still low, about ankle-deep. One-by-one, the others reached the beach, and they made for the opening. "Ick," Buffy complained once they started wading through the water. "I did _not_ wear the right shoes for this. You feel anything, Willow?"

Willow, who had taken the lead, was running her hand over the cave wall. "There's something here. Further in. I can sense it." She paused. "It's . . . old."

Ripper felt a trace of it as well. It made goosebumps rise on his skin. He could only imagine what it did to Willow. They walked deeper and deeper into the cave, trying not to trip. Suddenly, Willow stopped them. "It's here." Her hand pressed into the cave wall. "As I thought, the entrance is hidden by magic."

"Can you get past it?" Buffy asked, looking over the cave wall.

"Yeah . . . but it's going to require a lot of energy. I might need help getting out of here," she said.

"We've got your back," Xander assured her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Let's see what kind of nasty we have in store behind door number one."

Pressing both of her hands against the rock surface, Willow closed her eyes. Ripper felt the air around them start to tingle. She was reaching into the environment, into the earth and air. The magicks became so powerful, he could almost taste it on his tongue. The cave started to shake, the ground tremble. The wall before them started to shudder and sink down into a slit in the ground. A large room was revealed to them. Willow stumbled once the rock was moved, nearly fainting, but Xander caught her and steadied her. "I'll carry her," Xander said, hoisting her up into his arms. They walked into the room, Xander setting Willow down on a protruding rock above the water level.

A sudden line of fire ran across the room, along the walls, lighting it up. With the room illuminated, they were able to see it—a sword embedded deep into a stone covered in runes. "Guess I'm up," Buffy sighed, making her way to the pedestal. She reached for it, hesitating, and then pressed her palm to the hilt. The room shook, the tremors so violent, it had Ripper fighting to keep his feet. The water level was rising as another slab of rock wall opened up. This opening was far larger, and water came rushing out of it. That was not all that rushed forward.

What could only be described as a three-headed Loch Ness Monster came roaring at them. There wasn't enough water for it to submerge underwater, but it was fast in what little water there was. Its serpentine body shot forward, heading for Buffy. Quickly, she pulled Excalibur from the stone and jumped away, just as a head came forward, long, needle-like teeth bared. "We're fighting the Loch Ness Monster. Or . . . the Loch Ness Monster's child or . . . or ancestor! Bloody brilliant!" Ripper beamed. But his excitement quickly turned into apprehension as one of those big heads turned toward him. "Right." Fire erupted in his palms, and he shot a fireball at the head. The monster quickly dodged, roaring in anger.

"This wouldn't be the 'proving we're worthy' part, would it?" Xander asked, dodging from side-to-side as the third head kept darting for him. "Because I'm pretty sure Buffy is supposed to do this alone." He grabbed a wet rock and threw it at the head. It struck, and the monster snarled in pain and rage. Xander gulped and rushed to the side, away from it.

Buffy was battling with her own monster head. She hit it in the teeth when it came charging back, the sword clanging loudly against the sharp teeth. That seemed to stun the monster, and Buffy took advantage, driving the sword through the monster's head. Black blood gushed from the wound, staining the water. "See? It's not so bad," Buffy panted, wiping her forehead.

"Yeah, says the one who has a weapon. I'm basically caveman against T-Rex right now," Xander grunted.

Willow's weak voice was heard then. "Xander . . . here," she had managed to teleport a crossbow from their weapons stash into the cave.

Xander seized it gratefully. "Willow, you are a savior." Quickly, he spun on the head that kept trying to eat him. It was charging again, its large mouth open wide. Xander held the crossbow out, waiting . . . waiting . . . he could smell the fish-breath engulf him, the heat . . . and then finally fired. The bolt shot forward through the top of the monster's mouth and into its brain, killing it instantly. It dropped right at his feet.

Ripper, meanwhile, was still tossing fireballs at his head. With its two other heads dead, it was having a difficult time moving, but still managed to dodge his attacks. Growing irritated, Ripper changed tactics. He focused on the flame in his hand, extending it until it became a long whip. Though he felt the heat from the flames, it did not burn him. Ripper cracked the whip over his head, and then slashed at the monster. It dodged it once, but then Ripper swung his arm down, and the whip wrapped itself around the monster's neck. The monster screamed as the fire burned into it, thrashing. Ripper pulled the whip made of fire until he squeezed right the neck, slicing the head right off, leaving nothing but a cauterized stump behind.

The whip vanished as he released the spell. That was new, and the spell had been tiring. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as Willow though, who weakly applauded them. "Good job, guys. Knew you had it in you," she whispered. "Is it nap time now?"

Buffy looked at Excalibur, glyphs written into the blade seeming to shimmer. Ripper wondered if she could feel its power . . . and he wondered what that power felt like. She swung it once, and the blade seemed to almost give a harmonic song as it sliced through the air. "It's definitely bedtime for someone," she said, a fierce determination in her eye.

The war had begun.


	13. The Council

As expected, their return journey to London was far more difficult. The band of Solii in the car had obviously only been the first group to discover their whereabouts. After them, they came in hordes. Ripper had to stop the car numerous times, so Buffy could get out and Slay them with Excalibur. A well-placed slice had them dissolving into ash immediately. The other Solii eventually became wary once they realized the Slayer had succeeded in obtaining the sword. Naturally, they still attacked, but those attacks were more spread out on their return trip.

Once they reached Ripper's home, they practically fell in, exhausted. The next day was spent admiring Excalibur. Xander and Willow both wanted a turn wielding it . . . just not against any vampires. Fighting the vampires proved to be rather difficult. The battles needed to take place in unpopulated areas, and London was quite a populated area. They ended up taking little drives outside of the city to the nearest bit of countryside. The Solii, eager to destroy the Slayer and get their hands on Excalibur, followed them. Though the others worked on wrangling them towards Buffy, it was Excalibur and Excalibur alone that did them any harm. Both Ripper and Willow attempted different magicks spells, but nothing worked. Whenever Buffy grew weary, they retreated carefully back to their headquarters.

This went on for a week until it became clear that the Solii were endless. Every day was met with another unit that lasted for hours to destroy. Excalibur alone wasn't enough. The group found themselves in Ripper's father's Watcher study. "The only way to end them all is to perform the same ritual Guinevere and Arthur enacted," Ripper said, scratching through his hair. "The problem is the details on the actual ritual are bloody scarce." That was putting it mildly. There weren't any damn details at all.

Frustrated, he threw the book onto the desk, which was already laden with discarded books on fairytales and legends. Collapsing into a chair, he made a noise of irritation. He knew what he had to do. He didn't want to . . . but he knew he had to do it. It was their best chance. The others continued to listlessly turn pages, a few yawns escaping them. "I have to see the Council," Ripper said finally, his voice quiet.

"You're certain?" Buffy asked, sitting up from where she had been reading.

"None of these books have anything," Ripper gestured around them. "If the ritual is anywhere . . . it's there. I remember they have a whole vault devoted to ancient lorebooks. Just gotta kiss a few arses, I'm sure, and they'll let me in," he said with obvious disgust.

"They won't be bothered by the whole . . . time travel thing?" Xander asked.

"Yeah, I mean . . . They might not like that you didn't come straight to them to fix it or . . . or report it or something," Willow added.

Ripper scratched through his hair. "Yeah, well. Not much they can do about that now. Ethan couldn't even find a way to go back home, and he consorts with demons. Though if you don't hear from me, it means they've locked me up and are doing experiments on me. Which, as we all know, is just an excuse to ram something up me arse," he grunted. At their shocked expressions, he explained, "they don't like me much. I . . . might have destroyed a classroom before I left. With fire. A lot of fire. That set one of the Professor's hair on fire." Their mouths only opened further. "It's not _my_ fault he decided to wear a load of hairspray that day. Maybe if he was less of a ponce . . ."

"Okay," Buffy interrupted. "So, you're going to . . . head to the Watcher Council. I'm coming with you. They don't like me much either, but you're going to need protection on the journey over. The Solii have been watching this house. No one leaves without me," she patted Excalibur pointedly.

"Love, we really don't carry swords around in public anymore. We stopped doing that sometime around the seventeenth century," Ripper pointed out. "If you walk around with a sword strapped to your side, the Bobbies are bound to arrest you." Buffy frowned at this. "I can do it on my own. I think I need to, anyway. It'll be a shock for them to see me like this as it is." The Council would likely be unhappy with him. They didn't particularly like it when magick was used in a manner that changed reality.

Buffy chewed this over, obviously not enjoying the thought of the risks. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she shrugged a shoulder. "Fine," she said at long last. "But hurry. Stick with the crowds."

"That's the plan." Ripper pushed himself up, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and heading for the door. "Be . . . um . . . ready to leave. Just in case anything . . . happens." Without explaining, he left the house quickly.

Willow frowned, looking at the others. "What does that mean?"

* * *

Though it had been a couple of years, his feet knew the way to the Watcher's Council. Before he had been a student, he'd joined his father and grandmother on trips to the imposing—but undistinguishable—building. It had seemed so large then. Everything had been. When he had been a student, he had been filled with curious and reluctant wonder. And when he had left, he had only felt disgust. Now . . . now he felt trepidation.

The crowds swept him up right to its front doors. If there had been Solii watching him, they hadn't found the right opportunity to strike . . . or simply weren't interested in him. Ripper stared up at the building, the familiar decorative statues and Sumerian warning signs, warding off evil. To the ignorant human eye, they were just scratchings. Ripper ran a hand through his hair, ensuring it was in its usual messy state. He didn't want to go in. Facing them was a horror he preferred to block out and avoid whenever his mind dared lead him in that direction.

Sighing, he lowered his head, looking down at his scuffed up shoes. What was he running from anymore, anyway? He was helping the Slayer. He'd wound up accepting his destiny after all, anyway. None of that would change. Ripper just hoped the Council didn't try to keep him locked up, fearing his presence in this reality might destroy it or some such trash. Gritting his teeth, he looked back at the door. A scared, angry boy had left these doors. He'd done a lot of growing up since then. Determined, he walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy oak door.

The receptionist welcomed him. The building was a front for a Historian Society. Members met here to plan archaeological digs and share theories. That was the front, anyway. Ripper stood before the receptionist, faltering. Was Travers still the Director of the Council? What was he thinking? Of course, he was. Travers was too stubborn to die or let anyone else take the reins. "I need to speak with Director Travers," Ripper stated simply. The receptionist ran an eye over him, likely taking in his choice of Pink Floyd t-shirt and whole-filled jeans. "It's about the Solii," he said, "or did Travers think that little problem was solved pre-Britain?"

The receptionist pursed her lips, and then picked up the phone. She said a few words into the phone, then looked over at him. "Your name?"

"Rupert Giles," he replied. The receptionist lifted an eyebrow at that but repeated it into the phone. After another moment, she hung up and nodded for him to walk through a passage that opened in the wall. Watchers and their secret doors. Ripper winked at her, then climbed the spiraling stairs at the end of the passage. He was met with three Watchers, each one looking at him dubiously.

"Rupert?" came an older voice, and Quentin Travers pushed himself past the other Watchers. His eyes widened, but he made no further physical expression of surprise. Typical stiff upper lip. The Senior Watchers were professionals at it. "What . . . what is the meaning of this?"

Ripper glanced around. "Nice manners, Quent. May we speak somewhere privately?" he asked.

". . . Yes. Come into my office. Excuse us, gentlemen," Travers dismissed the other Watchers. Leading Ripper down the hall, they entered a large room, ornately decorated. Everything was either oak or velvet. Books lined the room, neatly stacked in their shelves. They passed by a long oak table with maps strewn about it and came to Travers' desk. Ripper plopped down on the chair and looked over at Quentin as he slowly lowered himself into his own chair.

"Alright. I'll just get this bit done with. Giles from here created a wormhole that sucked me from my time and spat me out here. His life was the price. The Giles you know no longer exists. You're stuck with me now, mate," he smirked.

"Rupert Giles . . . in his twenties. God help us all," Quentin muttered unhappily. "Well then. This is most troubling. I remember you at this age. You had the sense then to come back to us and learn. Something tells me that is not what our meeting is about today."

"Clever man," Ripper nodded. "I'm working with the Slayer." Travers looked surprised at this. "We're dating, no big deal," he shrugged casually, though was also nonchalantly bragging. "But we've run into a bit of a problem. The Solii . . . They've woken up from whatever spell they were put under in the days of Guinevere and Arthur. Buffy has Excalibur," Travers' eyes widened further, "but they keep coming. The only way to end them is to perform the same spell that Guinevere, Arthur and Merlin did all those centuries ago. Perhaps a bit more lethally, in my opinion," he added.

Travers was silent for a long time, studying the young man before him. "You were a violent criminal when you were at this age, Rupert," he said. Ripper felt his stomach sinking. Had the man heard nothing he'd just said? His past . . . or present . . . whatever . . . didn't matter. "Why should we trust you with our resources? Didn't you have a . . . taste . . . for the Dark Arts?" Ripper felt his anger flare. "More than that, Rupert Giles, your . . . future self . . . has been fired from this Council. He is a civilian and thus no longer affiliated with us. His—and thus your—request for resources is invalid. We cannot help you, Rupert. Unless you decide to remain and continue your training . . .We'll have to put you through a rehabilitation program, of course. Get all that . . . dark magick . . . out of you."

"No," Ripper stood abruptly, shaking his head. "No, I'm not rejoining the Stuffy Tweed Squad. I'm doing well on my own, thanks. I've got the Slayer. What do you have?" he asked, lifting his chin proudly.

"Centuries of information," Travers replied coolly. "Really, it was only for your best, Rupert. That darkness will destroy you in the end . . . I have a feeling it's already in the process of doing so." Ripper glared at that. "We cannot help you. But I will tell you that I shall send my top men to investigate into the Solii. They shall perform the ritual instead. You can tell the Slayer to return to the Hellmouth where she is needed."

Ripper was frustrated. Who did this pompous arsehole think he was!? Did he not understand the crisis!? Sod tradition and rules and propriety! This was a part of the Council that he absolutely abhorred. They were so stuck in tradition, they'd rather more lives were lost then do something not according to their tenets. The tunnel vision was infuriating. Travers was watching him curiously . . . and then Ripper did something very stupid. He shot his hand forward, closing Traver's windpipe, suffocating him. Travers choked, grasping at his neck. "Tell me where I can find the lorebooks," he growled. Travers shook his head, and Ripper squeezed tighter. The old man kicked, obviously trying to fight him off.

But the strain became too much. Travers made a sound as if to try and speak, and Ripper loosened the magick's hold on him. "V-Vault . . . Seven," he managed to choke out.

"Good. Thank-you. This could have been much easier," Ripper said.

Travers looked up at him, his face red, eyes watering. "Follow this path, Rupert . . . and you will lose yourself completely, and everything you care about."

"Thanks for the warning," Ripper grunted, "go to sleep." He murmured a spell, and Travers' head fell to the desk, snoring rather loudly. Ripper grabbed Traver's pass and headed out of the room. He felt . . . guilty. Then he felt mad at feeling guilty. It was Travers' fault. If he'd just helped him, things wouldn't have had to get so violent. Besides, he had the information he needed now. Buffy could save the day. Ripper quickly left the office and headed down to the Vaults. Each Vault housed different things. Yet, all those things were dangerous. Seven must have been the naughty bedtime reading.

He passed a few guards on the way, showing the key card as he went. The Council had updated in this regard. Ripper remembered each Vault had been sealed by some intense Cryptex that only the Director knew the answer to. Once he had descended enough stairs that convinced him he was deep underground, he came to the Vaults. He ignored the first six and stopped in front of the Seventh. The Watcher-guard looked at him expectantly. He presented the key card. The guard scanned it, and the large Vault door opened.

Ripper stepped inside and saw the largest room he had ever seen. It seemed to stretch on forever. In fact, he couldn't even see the walls. Rows upon rows of bookshelves filled the room. At the ends of each one, there was a list of the inventory found in each row. Ripper was unsure of where to look first, so he started with the general Solii search. There was nothing in any of the S rows, so he went to Excalibur next. There were quite a few books and scrolls written on this subject.

Hurrying, he grabbed a few books and scrolls. Before he could read them, an alarm went off. "Fuck," he swore. It looked like Travers had woken up.

"YOU THERE. HALT!" the guard from earlier shouted, entering the Vault.

Clutching his items to his chest, Ripper ran through the rows, trying to loose the guard, who was shooting tranquilizer darts at him. They imbedded into the books around him with soft 'puh' sounds. Panting, Ripper raced for the door after having led the guard away from it. "HALT!" the guard shouted, running faster. It became a race for the door. Ripper threw himself as fast as he could, skimming across the floor and hitting the button to close the door as he slid out. The door slid into place, locking the guard inside.

"Alright," Ripper panted heavily, bending over to catch his breath. "Gotta get out." Wiping his forehead free of sweat with his arm, he snuck along the corridor. The guards were assembling everywhere, blocking off the only exit and entrance. "Damn it." He'd have to get creative again. A portal was out of question. He hadn't been kidding when he had vowed never to use that sort of magick again. Adjusting the books in his arms, he headed in the opposite direction of the guarded exit.

He was underground. The tube was also underground. Surely, there was a tunnel that ran close somewhere. Running his hand over the cement walls, he felt for vibrations. For a long time, there was nothing, and he was beginning to panic. Just as he was turning to head back to the exit, he felt it. A tremor that became more and more intense. Here. Ripper focused his energy, and then stepped back from the wall. Reaching into the earth, he drew on its strength. A tremor below him shook violently, and he barely kept his feet. A loud cracking sound emerged, and the wall he had placed his hand against cleaved into two . . . a lit tunnel exposed on the other side.

"Yes!" Ripper breathed in quiet victory, then rushed forward through the crack. The lights flickered in the tunnel, and he glanced to make sure there weren't any trains coming before running down the tunnel. At the nearest ladder, he climbed it and pushed open the manhole covering. Climbing out, he replaced the covering and took stock of where he was. The crowd nearly pushed him over as it rushed to and fro. He kept hearing excited talk about an earthquake. Well, he was certainly still in the heart of London. Once he had gained his sense of direction, he started running for his home.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when he finally shoved himself through the front door of the Giles' estate and collapsed on the floor, panting furiously. "Giles!" came the immediate cry as Willow rushed over, seeing him first. "You made it! We were beginning to worry."

Ripper, who was drenched in sweat, let the books and scrolls spill on the floor beside him. "S-Success," he panted.

Buffy hurried over and beamed at him. "Did you feel that earthquake?" she asked him. "We were about to start searching for you. We thought it might be something, you know, supernatural."

"Y-Yeah," Ripper took in a deep breath to try and normalize it. "That was . . . me."

Buffy's eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. "Ripper . . . what did you do? Why would you need to make an earthquake?"

Ripper gave a guilty smile. "Remember . . . when I said be ready to leave?" They nodded. "Yeah," Ripper pushed himself up into a sitting position. "We need to leave. Now."


	14. Avalon

" _What did you do!?"_ Buffy stormed up to him after he had managed to regain his breath. "Rupert Middle Name Giles. Spill it right now!"

"Blimey, you don't even know my middle name?" he blinked in surprise over at her, throwing his things into a trunk.

"I'LL GIVE YOU A MIDDLE NAME!" Buffy shouted, her tiny body trembling in fury. Ripper found it both endearing and terrifying. "RUPERT I'M-IN-SO-MUCH-TROUBLE-YOU-CAN-KISS-THE-KISSES-BYE-BYE GILES!"

"But, chocolate bunnyyy," Ripper whined, making eyes at her.

"Oh no," Buffy held up her finger at him. "Don't you chocolate bunny me. You did something bad, didn't you? Bad magick bad." She pushed herself in front of him, blocking his trunk. Ripper sighed, placing his hands on his hips and looking down at her. "Did you . . . hurt anyone?" she asked.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I mean . . . nothing long-lasting." Buffy breathed out sharply, rolling her eyes. "Well, what was I supposed to do? The pillock wasn't going to help us unless I spent a year licking his balls and playing the good boy. Meanwhile, we'd be all be dead or worse. I had to take action. Some of us, Buffy, have to take the darker path, so the others don't. Like you." He could hurt and kill if he needed to. He had it in him, and he knew it. His soul was already claimed. The least he could do was take the hit for the team and spare everyone else from blackening their souls.

Buffy turned to him, her arms crossed over her chest. "And what about the consequences? Did you think about that, Ripper? We have vampires on our tail, now we have Watchers?"

"Please," Ripper scoffed. "Bunch of smelly, old men? They can't touch us."

Buffy gave him a look, clearly not buying it. "Then why are we running?"

Ripper hesitated, chewing his lip once more. "It's not the tweed-clad ones we have to worry about . . . It's whom they're going to send after me. The Watcher Council's Special Operations Team. Wet works . . . James Bond. Those types."

Buffy's eyes lit up. "Wait, so . . . James Bond is coming after us?" She dropped down on the bed. "Let them come then. I'm trading up." Ripper rolled his eyes this time and turned to her. He dropped down over her and turned her on her side, giving her a good spank, to which she giggled and kicked at him—though careful not to actually hit him.

Chuckling, Ripper leaned in and pressed a few kisses to her neck. "I wouldn't trust Mr. Bond, you know," he told her. "I mean, he and I are really similar. Both capable of doing what others won't . . . except he always leaves the girl in the end—or at the beginning of the next movie." He turned her around and met her gaze quite seriously. "I won't ever leave you."

She looked at him, and he had the sense that she was trying to peer deep into him. Both into the depths of his soul and his heart. Finally, she touched his cheek and murmured, "no . . . I don't think you will." She smiled after that and leaned her head up to press a kiss to his lips. It was slow . . . and sweet . . . and gentle. Ripper didn't have very many kisses like this. Pulling back, Buffy suddenly bit his lower lip. Ripper gasped sharply at both the pain and arousal that ignited. She released his lip and told him with narrowed eyes, "no more hurting people to get ahead. There are other ways."

Sighing, he pushed himself off of her. "Yes, mum." He returned to packing the trunk. "Are you finished with your bag then?"

Swinging her legs over the bed, Buffy pushed herself up and skipped for the door. "Yup. I'll see you down there." She disappeared a second later, and Ripper returned to packing up his trunk. His hand lightly brushed over the books and scrolls he had taken from the Vault and carefully placed them in the trunk. He hoped what he'd done had been worth it. If the answer wasn't there . . . well . . . he was definitely fucked. Closing his trunk, he locked it, then carried it downstairs to join the others.

* * *

Ripper's car bounced over the dirt road as they drove deep into the countryside of Bath. This was a place his older self had mentioned he had bought as a refuge from the world . . . and the Council. Supposedly, they didn't know about it. Ripper was counting on that now. They pulled up to a farmhouse, a stable not too far with horses being groomed for the day. The house was kept by a farmer and his family, who tended to it whilst Ripper—or rather Rupert—was away. Home away from home, indeed.

He pulled into the drive, and as the others got out and took their things into the house, he made his way over to the farmer and explained a few things. Knowing the farmer and his family wouldn't be safe here whilst they were staying there, Ripper gave him a generous sum of pounds and sent them off on an immediate and well-deserved vacation. Once the family had been taken care of, he entered the house with the others. This one wasn't nearly as large as the Giles' estate in London, but it was a well-to-do farm house.

They broke off to their rooms, and Ripper threw himself into research. The others joined him one-by-one, after they finished unpacking. He handed them a book or scroll each, then settled into reading. A fire popped and crackled in a nearby fireplace, giving warmth to the sitting room they holed themselves in. The first day proved nothing of note. Ripper read countless tales about the many adventures the Slayer Guinevere had, but it was all pre-Solii. He even found a pamphlet that consisted of the laws that Arthur and Guinevere had instituted at Camelot. Quite progressive, considering the times.

The day went, and they retired. The next day followed a similar pattern. By the third, they were beginning to grow impatient and frustrated. None more so than Ripper. He had risked a great deal in procuring these, and they were turning out to be useless. If he had chosen the wrong selections for nothing, he was . . . well, he wasn't going to be very happy. Buffy and Willow went outside to take a break. They had taken an interest in the horses and enjoyed riding around the farm. They liked to pretend they were Warrior Princesses.

Ripper, his cheek pressed against the table, was blearily reading another book. He was about to fall asleep when his words alighted on something. His head snapped up, and he held the book closer to him. It was in ancient Latin, and so he paused a few times before stringing together an entire sentence, "'. . . and together with the Excalibur, the Holy Grail was the key to vanquishing all manner of dark and twisted beast . . .'" He breathed out and jumped up. "I'VE GOT IT!"

Xander, who had in fact fallen asleep against the table, sprang up with a loud snort. "What? Who?" A page was sticking to his cheek. He batted it off of him.

At that moment, Buffy and Willow ran in as well. "We've got company!" Buffy shouted. "That Special Murder Force? They've found us."

Ripper growled. NOW!? "Hold them off," he told them. "I've got the answer right here."

Buffy and Xander grabbed some weapons and rushed out to meet the small force of men who had been attempting to sneak into the house. The sound of steel-on-steel echoed even to the kitchen. Willow remained, looking at Ripper. "If you can give me a location, I can get us there. I'll make a portal."

Ripper frowned at that, feeling uneasy immediately. "Are you sure you can do it? Portals can be nasty."

Willow nodded. "I've been practicing on the side. I'm getting stronger. I can do it," she told him firmly. "Just find it fast enough before I wear myself out," she told him, then hurried out after Xander and Buffy. It was a tricky fight. The soldiers were human, and so killing them was off of the table. Buffy and the others worked to knock them unconscious as much as they could. Ripper glanced outside and saw Buffy hitting one over the head with a frying pan. That was his girl.

Returning to the book, Ripper scanned over the page. "'The . . . Holy Grail . . . its secret kept with Arthur followed him anon . . . to Avalon," he finished in a whisper, his eyes widening. "Blimey." Closing the book, he heard a loud crash from upstairs. More of the Watchers had broken through from above. He hurried outside to join the others. Xander was on the back of one soldier, trying to cut off his circulation, so he fell asleep. Ripper knew he had to clear the area for Willow to concentrate. Calling upon his magicks, he widened the spell, targeted those he wished to influence, then whispered, "sleep."

All around them, the soldiers crumpled where they stood, snoring quietly on the ground. Xander fell to the ground. Buffy missed her swing and nearly hit Willow. The latter ran over to Ripper. "Gotta location for me?" she asked, breathing hard.

"Well . . . yes," Ripper scratched his head, glancing at the others as they approached. "Our answers lay in Avalon."

Willow was the only one who would understand this. "Avalon. That's a mystical world. A fringe world, really. A step between our physical world and the spiritual. Do you know how difficult it is to hit that mark? That's like aiming for a fly while standing a hundred yards away on a bucking bronco."

"I know," Ripper said gravely. "Can you do it?"

The girl clenched her jaw, her brow furrowing in thought. "Boy, I better get my Head Girl badge after this." She moved some of the sleeping bodies, so they weren't pulled in with them. "Everyone hold hands. We need to go in together." They did so. Ripper watched Willow concentrate and felt the tiny hairs on his neck and arms stand up on end. She _had_ been practicing. That was some powerful magicks she was harboring. He could almost taste the electricity on his tongue. Ripper attempted to lend his own magicks to stabilize her. She drew from him, and he felt his energy start to dissipate.

Before them, a large rip in the universe appeared. Willow grit her teeth, making it expand until it was large enough for all four of them fit through. "N-Now!" she gasped, and they jumped through it all at once. The portal closed behind them, and they landed on soft, green grass. In fact, the grass had a tint of blue to it. It was thick and grew all over. Ripper looked around. They were on a small island. Barely fifteen yards across. Water surrounded them, the flow steady and peaceful. On the other side of the water rested the mainland. It was covered in grass and rich vegetation as well. The air seemed to shimmer with color, though they could still see through it. It was purple and pink, changing between the two and all the shades between. Ripper had never seen a place so colorful. Everything was so intense to his eyes. It almost hurt.

The sky was the bluest blue. The mountains distant, peaking over acres of rich and dense forest. Butterflies and other insects glowed, their wings shimmering with light under the warm sun. This place was . . . beautiful couldn't even begin to describe it. Ripper felt a strange sense of peace here. One could heal here, no matter what one's injury or injuries might be. There was no doubt in his mind.

"We're in Avalon."


	15. The Sacrifice

Ripper had read numerous novelizations of the Legend of King Arthur as a boy. Almost all had touched on Avalon at least a little. None had properly described the feeling of magic and peace. There was an overwhelming need to just lay in the thick grass and smile up at the sky and just _be._ Nothing evil or dark could touch him here. The anger and hate that plagued him so often dissipated. It was replaced by a joyous desire to run through the forest and climb the mountains and discover and connect and live. The others felt it, too. He could tell by the large smiles on their faces.

For a few minutes, they forgot the purpose that had brought them to this ethereal land in the first place. But at long last, they focused on an old monastery on the other side of the island. It was nearly engulfed by a large tree that sat right at the edge of the small island. Its large, green leaves spread out over the water and half of the island, so large it was. The monastery was the only man-made thing that they could see, so they pushed themselves in that direction.

The monastery looked to be either 9th century or earlier. It consisted of one square tower with a cross at the top. The tower emerged from the small building itself. The building was only a little wider than the tower. A large door, oak, stood open to them, a small set of stairs leading up into the building. Even here, the building seemed old and crumbling. Ripper wondered if it was because man-made and not of this world itself. This made him wonder where the building had come from in the first place.

Glancing at the others, he took the lead and walked up the steps and into the monastery. It was small and mostly barren. Empty pews lined the sides with a small aisle between. Everything was stone, save the pews and candelabras situated around the room. The monastery was a single room, he could see that. There might have been a small room on the other side behind the stage, but this was by-and-large the entire monastery right here. Their footsteps seemed offensively loud as they walked further inside. There was nothing ornate about the monastery. No gargoyles or decorations etched into the walls. Even the windows were just small slits that barely allowed any light into the building.

Save for one single beam that came from the only large window above the door, where the tower started to reach up. Its light shone on a still figure at the other side of the room. It was a man. He was kneeling, head bowed, before a large wooden cross. As they drew closer, they could hear the man murmuring in a form of Pre-Latin Latin. Though the man's back was to them, Ripper could see that he wore a tattered and mud-stained riding cape. The color might have been a dark red, but time had simply made it dark. There was, however, an emblem etched onto the cape of three crowns.

Ripper knew this emblem. Shocked, he felt to his knees immediately, awed and immediately feeling incredibly unworthy. The others looked at him in confusion, but the figure seemed to finally sense their presence. He rose and turned to them. An older man stood before them. He was but forty, really, but war and a medieval lifestyle had colored his dark hair with gray and white. Wrinkles lined his face around his eyes and mouth. Yet, even despite this, there was a sharp light in his eyes, and the crown atop his head made him appear even more regal. Without the crown, however, this man would appear kingly all the same.

"I am Arthur," the man greeted them, his voice low and rich. "King of the Britons and Lord of Camelot." His wise eyes ran over them all. The others were now sharing Ripper's shock and awe, though they hadn't quite gotten to the kneeling part. "I know you," he continued, "all of you . . . the moment you set foot onto this land. You do not belong here." He grew curious. "Pray, tell me what has brought the Slayer to an old Watcher?"

Buffy swallowed. "Well, you see . . . King-Sir . . . I-um . . . we . . . We need your help."

"CAN I TOUCH YOU!?" Xander blurted, then quickly clapped his hand over his mouth, looking quite alarmed that this had come from his mouth. "Sorry," he said quickly. "It's just . . . you're so cool!"

Amusement shown in Arthur's eyes. "A Slayer and friends. It is as old . . . my Slayer had friends, too. We named them Knights and formed—"

"A round table! So no one would be superior to the other. You'd all be equals, even before a King!" Willow cut-in, looking both proud and terrified that she had just interrupted King Arthur.

"You know me then," Arthur chuckled, and the warmth of his laugh seemed to make the monastery feel even more welcoming and relaxed.

Ripper finally rose then. "Excuse us, Your Majesty."

"Oh," Arthur eyed him. "Yes, I knew one of you were from my Kingdom. The only one who kneels before a King." The others flushed.

"They're American," Ripper explained. "They got this whole freedom thing in their heads. No respecting their elders. That sort of thing." There were quite a few scoffs at that. "We came here searching for the Holy Grail."

This made Arthur's features darken and sadden. "Then it has happened. The Solii have returned to full strength." He sighed and looked down, the armor he wore clinking as he moved. "It is as I feared . . . my Guinevere's sacrifice was all for naught . . . and I have been placed here to help the next generation set it right." He looked over each of them. "Yet a band of warriors I see before me . . . You," he looked at Ripper, "you are her Watcher. Young." Ripper shrugged a shoulder. "There is a connection between you two . . . I feel it . . . I shared it with my own Slayer, Guinevere. She was my reason for all . . . and I see it is the same with you. Yet you are filled with fear." Ripper swallowed. "Fear of what you will become should you ever lose her." Buffy glanced at Ripper, and he lowered his head, looking away from her. "And you, Slayer," Arthur looked at her. "You have a lonely soul. You fear of losing them all and being the cause of their lost." Buffy's cheeks turned pink, but she didn't look away.

"And you," Arthur turned to Xander, who ducked his head. "You fear of being forgotten. That you will be passed over and left in the dust." His gaze fell on Willow last. "You are the most afraid. You fear failure . . . and success. That fear will keep you honest and innocent. Mind it." Arthur studied them as a whole. "You are not quite the Knights that followed Guinevere and I into that fateful battle . . . but perhaps you will do. Heroes are found even in the unlikeliest of people, after all." Arthur glanced back behind him at the cross. "You seek the Holy Grail . . . but once you have found it, you will not wish to use it."

"Of course we will," Buffy protested. "It will stop the Solii. We're lucky if we have a day before they grow tired of us and start taking over the world."

"I am not speaking to you," Arthur said, and his gaze turned to Ripper. "Merlin cast the spell upon the stone from which Excalibur was pulled. Within it a hollow cup was made. The Grail. The Holy," and now his gaze turned to Buffy, "was found in the Slayer's blood. The ritual was clear. It was to be used as a last resort. We fought and fought. Mordred and his Solii army came in the thousands. We fought through the night, and when the morning light came, my Guinevere knew it was folly. She ordered me to aid her with the ritual."

His voice trembled, and Ripper felt dread starting to fill his belly. "Our Knights held the Solii off until the very last man. It gave us the opportunity. I laid Guinevere upon the stone . . . shared one final kiss . . . and plunged Excalibur into her heart. The blood ran down the stone . . . filled the grail . . . and the spell was enacted. But it was not enough, you see. We did not know this at the time . . . Guinevere had already lost too much blood during the battle. The spell required . . . all. She gave all she had and died, but the spell only buried the Solii into a deep sleep. A sleep, I can see, is now over."

Ripper felt like his heart had been kicked through his chest down into his stomach. "You don't mean . . ."

"I do," Arthur murmured sadly. "The Slayer must sacrifice herself to destroy the Solii. But she must lose every drop of blood onto that stone, or else the spell will not work. They shall only be put back to sleep for another couple of centuries until they rise again, and a new Slayer and Watcher must try." He slowly stepped down to where they were and placed his hands atop Buffy and Ripper's head. "I loved my Guinevere. A love I can feel here. It will not be easy. Please, do what my Slayer and I failed to do. Save the world, as it is our sacred right to do." Arthur removed his hands from their heads after murmuring a small blessing. Ripper didn't feel any better. "Perhaps once this is all over, I can leave this place . . . and join my Guinevere in whatever plane she exists in now," he murmured longingly. "After the ritual, I found myself alone. The only survivor. If Merlin lived, I did not see him. I stumbled to the old cave that used to belong to him and left Excalibur there. I knew I was leaving. Sure enough, when I left the cave, a boat was waiting for me. Quiet, solemn women helped me aboard . . . healed me of my wounds . . . and brought me here to this place . . . Avalon. I have lingered here for centuries, waiting for the next Watcher and Slayer to seek my aid. Here you are." He gestured to them. "In the name of Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, and of Guinevere, daughter of the Slayer line, I bless your hearts to be true, your aim accurate, and your strength unyielding. Go now. You are mortals trespassing on this land. You cannot linger long in this place."

Ripper protested immediately. "There has to be another way. Enough blood gathered over time. Surely it doesn't have to be all at once—"

"Go," Arthur urged, and they were already fading, as if the land had recognized that they did not belong there and was moving beyond them, their bodies sifting through like sand. "Do your duty."

And then he was gone. They stood in a field a little ways from the farmhouse. It was nighttime now. Ripper wasn't sure how much time had actually passed. Whether it had just been a few hours, or a few days. Time between dimensions seemed to differ quite a lot. Everyone was pale and giving Buffy furtive glances. Ripper clenched his jaw tightly. "We're not doing that," he told them firmly. "Arthur has it wrong. There has to be another way. It didn't even work for him, so he has no idea what he's talking about. We'll find another way," he said, glaring at them, daring them to argue.

Willow and Xander nodded, silent, and then started to walk towards the farmhouse. Ripper felt a panicking feeling rising in his chest. "Buffy," he said, reaching for her hand. She looked up at him . . . and looked so very tired. "Buffy, I'm not going to let you," he told her. "I'll keep researching. Even if I have to conjure up some Dark Arts, I will." He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers through her hair, pushing it back, so he could see her face more clearly. "We'll find another way. I promise."

She seemed to stare at him for a long time, as if trying to read something from him. Then she smiled and stepped forward, resting her head against his chest. "I know you will," she whispered into his shirt. Ripper held her tightly to him, pressing a few kisses to the top of her head. "Think it's safe in there?" she asked, looking over at the farmhouse.

"They'll likely think we ran off to another safe house, so . . . we're safe tonight, at least," Ripper sighed, feeling the panic lessen just a little. No one wanted Buffy to die, least of all Buffy herself. They'd be fine. They just needed to keep looking. Ripper refused to lose her.

"Good," Buffy nodded, then lifted her head and looked up at him. "I want you to make love to me tonight. I'm ready," she told him. Ripper's eyebrows raised, but there wasn't a question in her eyes.

"Well, no offense, love, but I'm more of a, 'needs to be the right kind of mood' guy," Ripper told her. He was quite a bit shaken from the experience. Why wasn't Buffy? Or perhaps she was, and this was her way of coping with it.

Buffy smirked at that, and he saw the familiar teasing glint in her eye. That made the dread in his stomach disappear completely. "Come on. A good snog from me seems to always do the trick. You're easy," she teased, pulling him towards the house.

"And here I was hoping that I was going to get a strip tease out of it," Ripper shot back, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. She wasn't leaving his side. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Pft. Aren't you more of a hands-on kinda guy?" Buffy asked, then paused once they were inside of the living room. She turned and looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, a small pout on her lips. "You mean you don't want to undress me and feel my skin as every inch is revealed?"

Ripper released a slow exhale at that. Well then. Consider the mood ignited. "Alright," he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. "Consider me well stoked." Buffy giggled and playfully kicked her legs as he carried her upstairs to his bedroom. Shutting the door with his foot, he set her down on his bed and removed his shoes, then knelt and removed hers as well.

"Oh yes," Buffy leaned back as he set her shoes to the side, "I can understand the appeal of servants all of a sudden." Ripper sent her a playful glare before rising and moving over her, kissing her deeply. There was a desperation on both their parts, and it was felt in their kiss. He did not want to lose her. She did not want to be lost. Ripper felt her hands rest at his cheeks before slipping through his short hair. He wrapped his arms under her waist and lifted her up just a bit to move them up higher on his bed.

Leaning her back, he rested over her, cradled between her legs. Blindly, he reached for the curtains of his four poster and closed them. They were cut off from the world around them. There was no one and nothing but them in that little space. Ripper sighed against her mouth as their tongues met and tangled. The pure lust and joy he experienced when kissing her took over, kicking out all fear and dread and despair over their looming future. Ripper lost himself in Buffy, in the taste and warmth of her.

Time became a confusing thing. He wasn't sure how long they had kissed, but his lips were swollen and puffy, and as were hers. His blood was hot, and when he touched her skin just under her shirt, he felt how feverish she was as well. His fingers lightly tucked under the hem of her shirt and lifted it up over her head. His mouth closed on the skin that was exposed to him. Lips trailed over her tight tummy, lightly kissing over her belly button. Then he kissed between the grooves of her ribs and center of her sternum. Once her shirt was over her head and somewhere to the side of them, he cherished her neck.

This area seemed to be quite the erogenous zone for Buffy. He sucked and nibbled over her pulse points. Buffy gasped and arched underneath him. Ripper released a low moan when he felt her rubbing her core against his in her frustration. A few times, when he bit her a little too hard on the neck, her hips bucked and jerked against him in quite a delicious manner. Moans soon spilled from her lips, and she was tugging at his shirt, her hips almost riding him from below. Buffy managed to tear his shirt off—literally, tore it off—and threw it away.

"Oi, I only have—" but he was met with her lips. She kissed him hotly, the cherishing replaced by pure arousal and desire. Ripper growled against her lips and kissed her back just as lustfully, his hand bunching in her hair and tugging her back. Buffy released a heavy breath when their lips parted. She pulled him down and kissed over his chest, even licking one of nipples, which made him cry out quietly and stiffen against her as a jolt of pleasure ran through him. Bloody woman.

As she worked on marking his neck, to which he groaned and shivered at, he was working the straps of her bra off. Undoing the last clasp, he pulled it away and revealed her to him. Buffy blushed but pulled back, letting him inspect. There was an uncertainty in her eyes, and Ripper cursed whatever it was that had sprouted even the smallest doubt in her that she could be anything but beautiful to him. He kissed her tenderly, then lowered his head to take one of her breasts into his mouth. Buffy gasped and arched upwards. Her hands clasped into his hair.

A low growl left his throat as he sucked on it hard, his tongue swiping over the very tip in a plethora of patterns. Each one had her grunting and bucking her hips. Her legs were spread around him, and she was panting hotly against the top of his head, pushing him down against her, so she could rub herself firmly on him. "Ripper," she whined, a touch of absolute need in her voice. His own arousal was extreme to the point where it was beginning to become incredibly difficult to think.

He was hot everywhere, and his cock was starting to hurt at being squished into his jeans in its current state. His blood was singing and making his heart patter in his chest. Her nails ran down his bare back, leaving light red abrasions on his skin. Ripper, never one to rush, took his time in sucking the other breast next. To his delight, Buffy seemed more sensitive with this one. She called out and scrambled at him. Her core rubbed against his erection wildly, and she was breathing heavily constantly now. "Ripper, please. I need to feel you."

Ripper nipped her nipple, to which she cried out and gaped at him before he kissed her soundly. She was aflame, kissing him wildly and passionately. His hands dropped to her jeans and unbuttoned them. The scent of her musk and arousal was clear, and he quickly tugged her jeans off along with her knickers. Buffy was blushing hard at this point, but Ripper assured her with a kiss. His lips moved down, kissing her body. She relaxed at first . . . and then he felt her jerk when she realized he wasn't stopping. "Where are you going!?" she demanded. Ripper gave her an innocent look as he kissed into her thighs. His mouth suckled the flesh, tongue licking closer . . . closer. "Ripper, you're not- . . . no one has ever . .. you really don't—OH GOD!" she jolted when his mouth closed on her wet slit, his tongue sliding over it up and down.

Buffy seemed speechless after that. She could only draw in sharp breaths and clutch at his head. Ripper couldn't ask if she was alright, his mouth was far too busy, and he wasn't going to stop even if the world was ending. Which, he supposed, in a way it was. Ripper's tongue slipped past her slit and entered her directly. Buffy cried out again, her hips rising. "Fffffffuck!" she released in a heavy breath. "Oh my god, Ripper. What are you—" the rest of her sentence was cut off by a moan as he assaulted her wet core with his quite ravenous tongue. She was soaked, and he spent quite some time licking it up, then ensuring he created more by touching her in places that made her stiffen and grind into him. Ripper moved his mouth and head, passionate in his eating out of her.

Buffy was a mess. She strained and moaned and jerked against him. A few times she even kicked her foot out, and knowing her strength, Ripper was mindful to stay away from that foot. His hand spread her lips to the side, allowing him to lick her quite deep. He also spent some time suckling and licking her clit as well. That got her howling . . . so to speak. She didn't actually howl. Ripper could feel her clit pulsing under his tongue, rapidly, and her thighs started to shake as well. With his other hand, he massaged her thigh, helping her stay calm and just give in to the high he knew was climbing inside of her.

"Ripper! Ripper! Oh!" Buffy whispered, her body stiffening . . . then she shuddered hard and dug her nails into his scalp. Her thigh convulsed underneath his hand, and he moaned as he felt a bit more liquid coat his tongue and her walls convulse. She had orgasmed. Ripper licked her up, helping her stay afloat a little longer, then gently kissed her clit—to which she gasped and jerked—and then rested back heavily.

Sweat gathered over her skin, and her face was red. Ripper lifted himself up, licking his lips and chin clean, and he smiled down at her. Buffy smiled back after a moment, her eyes bright. "First time, hm?" Ripper asked with a satisfied smirk.

"Mm," Buffy nodded. "Vampires and fangs are never a good idea near . . . delicate things . . . and Riley and I never progressed that far, so . . . Yes. First time." She traced his cheek with her finger, then ran it down his chest and torso to his jeans. "Someone is suffering I see," she purred, rubbing him through his jeans. Ripper breathed in sharply and delighted in even the smallest bit of friction. God, it had been so long. "Well, I think I'm quite . . . lubed up and ready to go," Buffy stated, both looking daring and blushing.

Ripper smiled down at her, kissing her tenderly. He lightly suckled her lower lip, trying to convey what he knew in his heart was the absolute truth. Buffy seemed to hold him tighter for a moment, and he hoped that meant she had received the message. Her hands turned their attention to his button and zipper, undoing his jeans. Ripper was prepared to pull away and remove them, but Buffy stuffed her hand in his jeans and gripped his cock directly, pumping him a few times. Ripper cried out in surprise and clenched the sheets in his hand. "It's a damn good thing I'm a Slayer," Buffy murmured, then pushed his jeans down with her feet as much as she could. Ripper helped her, still quite sluggish from her latest attack. "Ripper . . . honey . . ." Ripper looked at her immediately, "when it's . . . when it's your turn to . . . just . . . it's okay to do it inside of me. I don't think Slayers can get pregnant. Sort of a job hazard."

He wasn't sure on that account, but as he had never really researched that part of being a Slayer before, he nodded. "If you're sure." Ripper shoved his jeans off of the rest of the way, his cock fully erect, a bit of arousal dripping from his tip. His hands ran down her body, her legs willing spreading wide around him. Ripper gripped himself and led himself to her entrance. Then his gaze met hers. She held it . . . all the way through his entry of her. Both of them gasped and moaned as he filled her. She was soaked and tight. So very tight. Buffy made a sound of discomfort, and he quickly rubbed her clit to alleviate any adjustment pain she had.

She relaxed after a few minutes and nodded at him. Ripper couldn't help but grin at her, and she rolled her eyes. They were joined. Watcher and Slayer. The power he felt from their union was . . . incredible. Even the least gifted sorcerer could conjure a tornado from this unique and primal power. Ripper leaned down, needing to touch and feel her everywhere. Their bodies pressed together, scalding hot flesh against scalding hot flesh. His lips pressed to hers, and they kissed during the first few thrusts. They were experimental, questioning. When Buffy suddenly pulled away from his mouth to moan loudly, he knew they were ready.

Ripper sped his hips up, his body grinding into hers and creating an even headier friction. Buffy clutched him, her arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and her legs wrapped around his hips. Ripper had an arm cradling her face and hand tangled in her hair. The other braced himself against the bed, moving deeper inside of her. Their moans filled the room as he sped up, locking them in a steady, passionate rhythm. The cosmos seemed to surge past them as they moved and joined and rutted and mated and fucked in a way as old as mammal itself.

Every thrust had Ripper clamoring for the next to one. The pleasure he felt was so great, not even a thousand Eyghons could ever conjure something even close to this. "Buffy!" he found himself shouting after each thrust, his mouth mostly covered by her neck. Her nails were digging into his flesh, and she was bucking wildly underneath him. Ripper was swept up by her abandon and passion. His hips pumped his cock into her harder, the bed starting to bang against the wall.

"Ohhh! YES!" Buffy shouted back, her hips pitching forward. "Oh, right there! Oh right there, baby!" Buffy's mouth fell open and a soundless scream came from her as he rocked them into a frenzy of ecstasy and passion. Ripper was surging towards his peak. He had no idea how long they'd been going. Again, time seemed to lose its meaning in their little world here. But he knew he was close. Judging by the pulsing he felt around him, she was rising up on her peak as well.

"Buffy, fuck," Ripper growled, driving himself faster. His cock was swallowed by her hungry core each time, giving him a good hug before he pulled out again. His fingers continued to stimulate her clit, which had Buffy losing her mind, if her cries were anything to go by. She was soaking. They were soaking. Liquid dripped from where they were joined and onto the sheets. "Oh fuck, Buffy. I'm so close," he gasped, his voice ragged, catching.

"Yes! Yes!" Buffy cried in response, her nails digging in and not letting him go. Ripper felt his toes start to curl. He thought he might go blind or deaf or something from the sheer power of the pleasure he was climbing towards. This orgasm was going to hurt. Ripper groaned louder, his thrusts becoming a little erratic. His balls were tightening . . . just a second before he came, he heard her shriek and felt her explode around his cock. Her core undulated and throbbed around him in just the right way, and he was lost. Completely lost. He was sure he screamed her name somewhere in the torrents of sound he made, as he released inside of her. Ecstasy, life, death, happiness, despair, loneliness, love, pain all mingled together and left him shaking and trembling against her. The pressure continued until he had released every drop of seed inside of her.

Then, panting, he was lost to soak in the beautiful afterglow of warmth and love and acceptance and union with Buffy. She was still moaning softly underneath him, her nails loosened on his skin, but her hands still clasped against his skin. Ripper wouldn't be surprised if steam was rising off of them . . . or if they had set something on fire. "D-Did you feel that?" Buffy asked finally, once she had caught her breath.

Ripper, who was having quite the crisis of being absolutely in love, looked down at her adoringly and kissed all over her face slowly. "I felt a lot of things," he chuckled lowly, kissing the bridge of her nose.

"Mm," Buffy agreed, nestling him against her. "The power, though. I felt like . . . like I could destroy the world."

Ripper stole a quick kiss from her lips. He was still happily nestled inside of her. It was very, very wet there. "I felt it," he whispered against her lips. "A Watcher and Slayer's connection has always been strong . . . unique. It's pure in its essence . . . love, whatever form it might be, is usually the center of it. I understand now . . . Love is the most powerful ingredient in any spell."

Buffy touched his face, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. "I've never felt more alive . . . than right now. Or so connected. I . . . I want to spend the rest of my life with you," she said, a tear escaping from her eye. Ripper brushed it away, hushing her gently. Buffy calmed and kissed his hand. They shared a quiet moment, simply staring and sharing silently, a few kisses given here and there. However, it began to turn playful when Ripper innocently—or not so innocently—lowered his hand to play with her breast. Buffy stiffened a little with delight as he manipulated her nipple. "So um . . . thing about Slayers? . . . Lots of stamina . . . Think you can keep up, mortal?"

Ripper grinned. "Try me."

Buffy rolled them over with hardly any effort, topping him. Ripper beamed up at her, their hands lacing together up above his head. Buffy rocked her hips down, riding him hard immediately. They both arched and cried in unison, "yes!" And so supernovas began again . . .

* * *

His body was sore. That was the first thing that entered his mind during the hovering state of consciousness and unconsciousness. He was quite sore, but pleasantly so. The next was a mental journey back to why he was just so sore. God, how many times did they go at it? For how long? It had lasted for hours with intervals of just kissing and touching between. Ripper had never experienced anything like it. He'd never felt so content and happy.

Smiling into the sheets, he lifted his head and turned in the direction of Buffy, his hand moving to reach out for her at the same time. He grasped cloth and paper. She wasn't there. Ripper frowned but didn't worry at first. Perhaps she went to have a breakfast. A pity, he was rather looking forward to having her for breakfast. Yawning, he sat up and looked down at himself. Scratch marks littered his body along with a few bite marks and bruises. His Buffy wasn't gentle.

Chuckling, he looked over where his hand rested, noticing the paper his fingers were lightly touching for the first time. Turning it over, he saw written—

 _I love you._

At first, he smiled at the words. How cute of her to leave him a note . . . but then a hot, nauseating anxiousness filled his heart. She couldn't have . . . Ripper threw back the curtains of his bed and grabbed his jeans. Pulling them on as he ran out the door, he nearly fell down the stairs in his rush to search the house. "Buffy!" he called. Silence. "BUFFY!?" Room after room was empty. "Willow!? Xander!? ANYONE!?" he shouted. Each room was empty. They had left him.

"They're going through with it," he breathed, his heart tightening in his chest. Not if he could stop it. Ripper rushed upstairs and put a shirt on, then hauled out some ingredients and grabbed Buffy's discarded shirt on the floor. Lighting a fire underneath the small cauldron, he threw the ingredients in and held his hand over the top of it. He murmured a tracking spell, then held Buffy's shirt over the fumes that came up. "Please," he begged. "Please, take me to her."

The shirt rose up from his hands and floated before him. Ripper extinguished the fire and jumped to his feet. The shirt soared out of the room and down the stairs, leaving the house once he opened the front door for it. Ripper followed hot on its trail. His car was missing, so he took one of the horses and rode after the shirt. Thankfully, the shirt soared quickly, and he had the horse in a hard gallop after it. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he thought it might bust right through. He was going to make it. He'd stop them before . . . before it happened.

His horse was panting hard, and he urged it on. "Come on, boy. We've got to be there soon." The truth was, he had no idea where they were going. Did one of them discover where the stone had been? Ripper wasn't even sure where he was anymore. He had ridden across endless countryside and now found himself in a thick forest. Suddenly, the shirt shot ahead and started to circle high above a clearing. Urging his horse through the last line of trees, he entered the clearing and found . . . chaos.

Jumping off of his horse, he rushed into the fray. Vampires—Solii—were attacking the group in the middle of the clearing. Willow and Xander were fighting, holding them off as much as they could with magic and holy water laced weapons. The Solii were gaining though. Ripper twisted the neck of one of them as he ran past and tackled a few others in his desperation to get to them. "Ripper!" Willow shouted when she saw him. "Don't! It's too late!"

And then he saw her. Buffy lay on an old rock . . . boulder, really . . . Excalibur pierced right through her. Blood was gushing from her, running down the rocks. Runes were etched into the stone, and her blood ran through them, making them light up. Ripper felt . . . crippled . . . gutted. He walked over to her, tears blinding him. When he reached her side, he saw that she was already dead. The sword had pierced her heart, as the ritual had required. Ripper took her hand in his, the tears running down his face as agony such as he had never known could exist washed over him. How could she do this?

But he knew why. Buffy had always been a better Slayer, than he was a Watcher. She had done what she had to do . . . for the world. Ripper kissed the palm of her hand. "I love you, too, Buffy. I love you, too," he told her, his voice cracking. A sob left him, and he lowered his head. Fighting was going on all around him. He knew he needed to help. The ritual wasn't complete until all the blood left Buffy. Her body couldn't be moved until then. The Solii still had a chance.

Ripper hardened himself. It wasn't difficult, really. All softness in him had died the second he had seen Buffy's body. Releasing her hand, he stepped away and moved to Willow and Xander's side. His pain gave him power, and he used it. Screaming in his agonized-filled rage, he used magick to tear the Solii apart. It wasn't light magic. It wasn't good magic at all. He ripped them apart savagely, half-demon himself. Blood splattered over him, but he was relentless in his attack. Ripper knew on some level that using this primal of magicks would kill him. It'd rip him apart. So be it. Watcher and Slayer would die together ending the Crusade of Solii.

The sudden brightening of the sun stopped him. In fact, it stopped everyone. The Solii looked up at the sun. Ripper looked at Buffy. The stone was completely covered in blood, as if it had sucked it from her itself. It likely had. She was so pale. The sun surged again, and Ripper had to close his eyes against it. The others did as well, shielding their eyes as the sun seemed to stretch out its light and touch the ground. Ripped shielded his eyes as well, and he felt warmth pass through him. Even behind his eyelids, he saw whiteness. There were inhuman shrieks around him, and then the sound of ash scattering in the wind. The light dissipated, and he cautiously opened his eyes.

All around them were endless piles of smoking ash. The sun had returned to normal. No harm seemed to have been done to anything but the vampires. "We won," Willow said, but her voice was hollow.

"You are weak," said a voice behind them.

They turned around and beheld another figure. He was dressed in a The Who t-shirt and torn jeans. His face was barely recognizable, for it seemed to be deformed and . . . demonic. Yet, it was still a face they knew. "Hey, isn't that that . . . guy . . . Philip? Your friend?" Xander asked, looking over at Ripper.

"That's not Philip," Ripper said, and he felt fear resurfacing as those demonic eyes focused on him, a smile stretching on its horrible face. "Hello, Eyghon."


	16. Eyghon

Eyghon grinned, Philip's face stretching grotesquely. Ripper felt a vague pang for the loss of his friend. It was dwarfed by the despair currently mastering him over Buffy, but it stung nonetheless. Today was a day of death, it seemed. "I thought we killed you," Ripper said. It wasn't true. Ripper had always had an inkling that Eyghon had simply been banished back to whatever Hell dimension he existed in. But he was trying to buy them some time. He wasn't sure what for . . . but time was always a good thing to have when it came to demons. Particularly old, powerful demons like Eyghon.

His tattoo was tingling on his arm. The Mark knew its Master was near. "Silly boy," Eyghon teased, and he moved the body closer. "It would take a great deal more than the weak pandering of foolish teenagers to destroy me. You were all worse than amateurs. Do you truly think I left that worm's body because _you_ commanded it?" Eyghon laughed, and the sound chilled Ripper. "You are more foolish than I thought. I killed the worm, the weakest, because . . . I wanted to. You've played the games I allowed you to have . . . but now it's time to pay your price. Time to join your worm."

Ripper braced himself. "His name was Randall." Then, using his anguish and anger, he forged a sword made of pure fire in his hand and charged for the demon. Eyghon gave an excited laugh and lunged forward. He dodged a swipe from Ripper and kicked him in the chest, forcing him to stumble back. Ripper snarled and attacked again, but each jibe and slash was either dodged or missed.

Eyghon laughed the whole time. "He's not the only one who has joined me. Thomas, Dierdre . . . and this body will soon follow . . . Phillip. Oh, he tries to fight against me . . . but he is as weak as the rest of you. I came to him in the form of Thomas. He was asleep. I took his body as easily as slipping on a new pair of gloves. There's so much more power in possessing a living body," Eyghon sighed happily, easily ducking another attack from Ripper at his head. "I was unable to find Ethan . . . but I will in due time. Your use of magicks led me straight to you. An earthquake, Ripper? Hardly stealthy of you."

Ripper roared in fury and jammed his sword for Phillip's stomach. Eyghon waved his hand, and Ripper went flying back, forced to remain laying on the ground. An invisible force held him there. "Willow! Xander!" he cried out for them.

They rushed forward, but Eyghon simply waved his hand at them as well and pinned them to the ground. He could feel Willow using magicks, but like his own, it was too weak compared to the might and ability of an ancient demon. The sword in his hand disappeared, and Ripper glared loathingly as Eyghon calmly walked up to him. "You were their leader, Ripper. The most powerful of them all . . . yet here you are . . . flat on your back like a whore. Fitting, don't you think?" Eyghon crouched beside him, and Ripper could smell the sulfur and decay permeating from his skin. He gagged, but held in his nausea.

Eyghon looked down at the Mark on Ripper's arm. "So many have called me . . . all thinking they are free to take and take and never pay. When you sell your soul to a demon, you can rest assured that they will always come to collect." Just then, Eyghon paused, sniffing the air as if he just noticed a new scent. Turning his head towards the stone, Ripper felt a cold realization spread through him. Eyghon seemed to sense this as well and smiled down at Ripper, his teeth sharp and pointed.

"No!" Ripper cried. "No, don't. Not her. She isn't Marked! She's not one of yours!"

Eyghon rose and slowly walked over to the stone. "Tsk, tsk, Ripper. She _is_ yours. That makes her mine as well. Besides," he smelled Buffy's body, "there is darkness in this one." Ripper fought at the magical field holding him down, desperate to fight off Eyghon. He was not . . . could not! "Yes," Eyghon breathed. "Such love here. I can feel it. Consider yourself lucky, Ripper, to be loved by someone so selfless. She shall take your place . . . and you can go on living in this plane knowing that she shall suffer extraordinary tortures meant for you . . . all because she loved you. And you loved her."

"NO! LEAVE HER ALONE! I SWEAR, EYGHON, I WILL RIP HELL APART AND DESTROY YOU IF YOU TAKE HER!" Ripper roared, his legs and arms kicking, his pure willpower breaking through some of the magical restraints.

Eyghon smiled over at him, not seeming to be worried in the least. "I believe there is a human saying for this occasion . . . 'I dare you.' Goodbye, Ripper." With that, Eyghon sucked the air around Buffy. Ripper watched in frantic dismay and rage as a ball of pure white light came from Buffy's mouth . . . and into Eyghon's. Eyghon shivered, and then collapsed, vanishing. Phillip's body remained, but it was no longer deformed. The magical barrier lifted, and Ripper shot up, tearing across the grass to Buffy's body.

A quick glance at Phillip's pale body told him that Eyghon had killed him whilst leaving the body as well. "Buffy," Ripper touched her face. He knew she was already dead, but she looked it now. He wept, cradling her head in his hand. Excalibur, knowing the ritual was done and its purpose complete, dissolved into silver dust, dissipating in the air. Ripper took Buffy's body carefully into his arms and sobbed for the loss of not just her life . . . but her soul. For he knew Eyghon had stolen it before it could reach Heaven, or wherever Slayers went to retire, and instead Buffy now burned in a Hell that been forged for him. He'd done this to her.

Ripper remained standing there for an unknown amount of time. A year could have passed, and he wouldn't have felt it or acknowledged it. Eventually, a hand pressed to his shoulder. Willow. "We need to get her out of here before some hiker sees." Ripper sniffled, his heart as hard as coal. Nodding, he picked her up and followed them to where his car was waiting. They'd driven here. As he had thought. Putting Buffy gently in the backseat, Ripper drove them back to Bath and they reconvened in the sitting room.

Buffy's body rested on the sofa. Ripper sat across from the body, his shirt covered in her blood. Buffy was covered in her blood as well. "We . . . we have to bury her," Willow said, her voice detached and wispy. Her eyes were red, too, tear stains on her cheeks.

"We wouldn't have had to . . . if you two hadn't allowed her to go there," Ripper said coldly, his gaze remaining fixed on Buffy. "I thought you were her friends . . . and you let her just . . . off herself like that?"

Xander shot up. "Hey! We've known Buffy longer than you, okay? She is . . . was . . . more than just a friend to us. She was our sister. Don't even think this was easy for us."

Ripper jumped up as well, stepping towards Xander until he got in his face. "Easy enough to let her do it. Had I been there, she'd still be alive! There was a way! A different way! If you two could have just remained resolute, she'd still be with us!"

Willow piped up, though her voice was faraway and quiet. "She told us we couldn't wake you . . . We had to do it. Just us three. She knew you wouldn't let her go through with it. But . . . but she said it was the only way. We'd just be wasting time looking around in books for an answer that didn't exist." Willow nibbled on the hem of her sleeve. "She knew what she was doing, Ripper. She was . . . being the Slayer."

"And she did what Slayers had to do," Xander added. "Saved the world. She'd be up in heaven right now . . . if it weren't for you. I think the real crime here rests on your hands. You shouldn't be angry at us, but we have a hell of a reason to be angry at you. Literally."

Ripper clenched his jaw and fist, ready to smash Xander's face in, but he knew he was right. His affiliation with Buffy—and with Eyghon—had permanently damned her soul. Closing his eyes, he turned away from Xander and collapsed back on his chair. His face pressed into his hands, and he rubbed at his skin wearily. "I can't resign her to that fate," he said finally, quietly. "Whatever it takes . . . I'm going to get her back."

Willow peered at him in confusion. "How? She's . . . gone. And not just gone, she's a whole dimensions gone."

Ripper lifted his head. "I was dared to find him. There's a way." He stood up, fresh determination in his eye and in his heart. "And the answer rests with you," he looked at Willow.

"Me?" she asked meekly.

"I may be shite at portals, but Willow you have a magic all your own. You have a power that's only just beginning to bud. You can do it. You took us to Avalon. A place that doesn't even really exist. A dimension between dimensions. You can find Buffy and take me there," Ripper told her, never sounding or feeling more certain in his life.

"Right, or I could get you lost in some hell dimension and both you and Buffy will be lost forever," Willow retorted. "Ripper, I want Buffy back, too. But this is dangerous. A mortal entering a hell dimension? You'll be an instant magnet for the baddies living there. Not to mention . . . even if I were to open a portal, I wouldn't be able to keep it open. You'd have to find another way back here."

Ripper nodded. "We'll hit the books . . . but this can work. I'll make it work. I'm her Watcher," he said, and this time, he meant it. "First though," he turned to Buffy's body and lightly ran his hands over the space just above her body. He reached for the elements, calling upon each to heal and restore. The wound in Buffy's heart closed up, the veins and sinew and membranes and whatnot reconnecting and healing. He restored her body, and then placed it in a state of preservation, so the body would not decay. He was going to do more than just find her soul . . . he was going to resurrect her.

The cost of the spell, as well as all the magicks he had performed earlier, and the weight of his grief exhausted him. The others were numb and tired, too. They split off to mourn on their own, as well as to research into Hell-diving. Ripper washed Buffy's blood from him in the tub, then cleaned his clothes. When he left and stood inside of his bedroom, he looked at the bed. It was difficult to imagine that not but twenty-four hours earlier, he had experienced such a state of joy and union. His own soul felt dead. Eyghon had done well to choose to take Buffy.

In reality, he had killed two souls that day.

* * *

Two days had passed since Buffy's death. The trio had not since left the home. They silently poured over book after book. Hardly anyone spoke, so intent they were on finding an answer to return Ripper and Buffy back home. Ripper was becoming more frantic and desperate with each passing hour. Another hour meant more time for Buffy to be subjected to unspeakable horrors and pain so excruciating, he worried that if he did find her, she would have been driven insane by it. He knew Eyghon was likely telling her that she had been abandoned. He just hoped that Buffy had the strength to keep on fighting.

A few times, the silence was broken by someone finding something that might help . . . but it was never powerful enough, or didn't quite give them what they wanted. But then, out of the three of them, Xander suddenly jumped up. "Maybe I've been watching Disney movies too often, but I just had a crazy idea," he said. Willow and Ripper looked at him expectantly. "This guy," he pointed at a picture of the Roman God Mercury in the book he was holding. "He can help you. It says," he pulled it back to him and read, "'Carrying the Caduceus, Mercury was similar to Hermes, in that he was the God of commerce, messages, travelers, and'" Xander held up a finger, because Ripper was about to protest, "'acted as the Romans' psychopomp leading newly deceased souls to the afterlife!'" Xander grinned up at them, quite proud of himself. At their blank stares, his smile faded a little. "Come on guys! Ripper goes in, finds Buffy, calls on this Mercury guy who knows all about the ins and outs of the afterlife, and boom! We got our Buffy back!"

Ripper cleared his throat. "You're asking me to call upon an ancient Roman God who may not even exist?"

"Even if he doesn't exist in form, gods transcend names. We may call him Mercury, but he could be anything. Though he may not appear physically before you, winged feet and all, his energy might. That's all immortals are, really . . . energy without boundaries like we have," Willow said.

Ripper sighed. "That's taking a lot on faith."

"Well," Willow looked at him, "Hell is the absence of faith, right? Of hope? Maybe having a little bit of faith is exactly what will get you two out of there."

Not for the first time, Ripper was rather silenced by the wisdom Willow carried within her. "Alright," he said finally. "How do I summon this Mercury guy?" he asked, looking back at Xander.

"I think you need his Caduceus. It's like a . . . heralding thing. A staff. I can shape one into the right form if I can find a large enough branch," Xander said. "I was working as a construction worker for a time, after all," he smirked.

"Get on it then, mate," Ripper said. "We don't have any time to waste." Whilst Xander ran off, he rubbed his forehead and started down at the image of Mercury. This was his way out of Hell . . . and Buffy's, too. "God, I hope this works," he murmured.

"I think you mean 'Mercury,'" Willow teased.

* * *

With the Caduceus made, Ripper held it in his hand. The two snakes wove around one another intricately. Xander had done a pretty good job. "Ever consider being a woodcarver?" he asked, passing the staff between his hands.

"I prefer someone else to carve my wood," Xander replied, giving him a wink . . . and then winced. "Oh god, that sounds _awful!"_

Ripper couldn't help but chuckle and gripped his shoulder. Xander nodded at him. Turning to Willow, he looked her over. "Ready?"

Willow, who had spent most of the day meditating to prepare herself, opened her eyes and looked up at him. "As ready as I'll ever be." She stood and looked him over in turn. "Are you?"

Grunting, he rested the staff against his shoulder. "Heading into Hell to save the girl I love . . . if someone doesn't make a film or a song about this, I am going to come back as a demon and haunt all of you. Sour milk and the smell of sulfur following you for the rest of your days." Willow smiled and surprised him by giving him a hug.

"It took a long time for me to see," Willow told him. "But risking his soul and life to save Buffy? . . . That's exactly something Giles would do. I'm sorry I didn't see it earlier."

Ripper shrugged, giving her a light smile. "Better fashion sense. I can understand the confusion."

Willow laughed and then forced herself into a somber state. "Okay. Here we go." She turned away from both of them. They stood out on the front lawn of the farmhouse. She closed her eyes, and Ripper felt her magicks start to take form. It was dark though . . . twisted . . . he gasped a little at the heat that licked at his skin. Xander seemed oblivious. Willow was shaking, sweating . . . with a cry, she ripped her hands to the side, and a portal appeared, flames licking around the edges. It burnt the grass and rocks close to it, charring them. "G-Go!" she grunted. "They can sense an opening! B-Bring Buffy back!"

Ripper took a breath, clutched the staff into him and jumped through the portal. Searing heat passed over his flesh, and he cried out in agony, but when he landed on hard rock, he found his flesh still in tact, no signs of burning. Looking behind him, he saw the portal close. No home that way. Turning in front of him, Ripper saw nothing but volcanic rock . . . mountains of it. A path stretched before him, but before he could even reach the path, he had to cross under rusty gate.

The gate was huge and arched over him. Living bodies—or dead-living, whatever one called oneself here—were impaled on the spikes jutting around the gate. They screamed in agony, blood dripping down them and lining the path. It wasn't just humans either. Ripper saw demons and other creatures he had no names for skewered and bleeding to the ground, all baying in torment. "Quite the greeting," he murmured. Breathing in, he focused and centered himself. "I'm coming, Buffy." Placing the staff through its slot on a carrier he had made on his back, he took his first steps forward . . .

. . . and passed under the Gates of Hell.


	17. A Window into the Past

The air was thick with heat. It made Ripper's throat dry immediately, and he found himself coughing every so often, as if his lungs were being singed from within. Sweat beaded his brow already, his shirt sticking to his skin. He felt an odd sense of disorientation as well. As if he were not completely attached to this world, his body actually floating in some space between. It made sense, considering he was a mortal walking where the dead and immortals reigned. He was a perversion in this world, though he wasn't sure if he was tainting the space around him, or if the world was tainting him. Ripper's tattoo was burning against his arm, and it was distracting. This was Eyghon's kingdom . . . it didn't surprise him that his tattoo would want to rip right off his skin to return to its master.

The rock path he followed was lined with crevices. Ripper didn't dare go too close to the edges, for the rock seemed to be crumbling bit by bit. Though, he did see a red glow emanating from the crevices. Hellfire, most likely. The Gates of Hell had long since been passed under, and he'd been walking for what felt like an hour, at the very least. He had the distinct impression that he was being watched. His body was certainly feeling like it was. Ripper wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. His mortal self was likely a honing beacon on all manner of demons in the area. Which made him wonder why he wasn't being constantly besieged by starving monsters . . . The only likely conclusion he came to was that Eyghon was keeping them in check. Eyghon wanted him for himself.

Ripper started to climb a set of stairs hewn into a rock face. The mountain loomed above him. He had no idea what was atop or what lay beyond, but as it was the only way he could go, he started to climb. After what felt like another hour, he finally hurled himself up at the top, panting hard. Below him, the path he had followed looked like a little ribbon, illuminated by fire. Wiping his forehead, he turned and inspected where he was now. The mountain was flat-topped and seemed to stretch on for miles. Other mountains of pure charcoal rock erupted here and there, and they stretched as far as the eye could see. Hell, indeed. Nothing but fire and rock. The monotony could drive a person insane.

There was nothing beautiful here. One could lose hope quickly looking at these mountains and endless plateaus of rock. Ripper started walking towards another mountain, thinking that if he could get high enough, he might be able to have a good view of the dimension. He took about fifteen steps before a door suddenly appeared before him. It slammed onto the ground just inches from his feet, making him jump back. It loomed in front of him, a single door, seemingly leading nowhere. Ripper frowned heavily at this door. It looked . . . familiar.

With a gripping feeling of dread, he reached for the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. The door opened, and he didn't even have a choice of walking in, as some sort of vortex formed and sucked him right in. Ripper all but blinked, and he suddenly found himself . . . in his bedroom. More than that, he was . . . ten . . . Large glasses perched on his nose, and he had to keep them pushed up. Ripper looked down on the floor in front of him and saw toy airplanes scattered over a childish drawing of England and Germany. It was dark in his bedroom, for he knew he was in his childhood bedroom, save for the light coming from the fireplace.

Slowly, he sat down and reached for an airplane. It was his favorite—the Gloster Meteor F.3. Gently, he took it in his hand and ran his finger along the side of the plane. Lifting it up, he was about to have it invade Germany when he heard footsteps. Loud footsteps. As he had when he was young, he felt fear prickle his heart. Quickly, he stuffed his planes and maps in his chest, but it was too late. The door slammed opened, and his father stood there. Edmund Giles stared down at his son, and the look of disapproval on his face sent a fierce sense of apprehension to begin in Ripper's heart.

But he wasn't Ripper here . . . he was just . . . "Rupert," his father said, his voice strong and commanding. "What did I tell you about playing with those airplanes?"

Rupert looked down at the planes in his hands, the guilty expression on his face all his father needed to see. "I . . . I-I j-just wanted to play . . . a bit before bed, father. I did my studies. S-See?" he set down the planes into the chest and walked over to his table where there was . . . no paper. Where was the paper? He knew he had been working on it.

Edmund walked into the room, his presence looming. Rupert's heart beat faster, and he could feel it fluttering in his neck. He clutched the pilot's helmet and goggles he was wearing tighter around his head. His father examined the empty table, and then looked at him severely. "I told you, Rupert. The time to be a child has passed. You're too old to be playing with toys. There's a lot of dangerous creatures out there. You have to be able to take care of yourself. One day, the fate of the world might very well be in your hands."

"But father," Rupert protested. "I-I just . . . want to be a pilot. I-I can save the world that way, too!" he insisted.

"Enough of that!" Edmund snapped. "We already had this conversation. You're a Giles. Being a Watcher runs in our blood. Do you want me to be disappointed in you? Or your grandmother? It is our legacy. Our blood. Remember what happened to your mother . . . do you really want other children to lose their mothers to the monsters?"

Rupert shuddered. "N-No. But I don't like learning about the m-monsters, father. They . . . s-scare me," his voice fading.

"As they should," his father reached for him and removed the helmet and goggles from atop his head. Rupert protested, and his father held him back. "I've tried to be gentle with your transition, Rupert, but this sneaking about will only harm your education. There's no other way about it." He went to the chest and opened it. The fear in Rupert's heart exploded as he saw his father take out his model planes and maps.

"Father! No!" He rushed forward and tried to grab them, but Edmund pushed him away, grabbing the planes and tossing them into the fire. "NO!" Rupert shouted, staring helplessly at the fire as tears ran down his eyes. His friends . . . his dreams . . . Pilots Avery . . . Harrington . . . Stewart . . . their imagined faces and all the stories he had made up surrounding them, all of them just burned away. His father was saying something, telling him it was for his own good, but he ignored him. A glint in the fire caught his eye. Quickly, he snatched a plane that hadn't quite reached the fire, his Gloster, and he ducked under his father's arms, running out of his room.

"RUPERT GILES, GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" his father shouted after him, the terrible booming of it making his bones tremble. But Rupert ran. He dodged through hall after hall, racing away from his father. Quickly, he ducked into one of the supply cupboards and closed the door behind him. Panting, he huddled in the dark and clutched the plane to his chest. Somewhere distantly in the house, he could hear his father shouting after him, promising—threatening—of his punishment. Rupert was so frightened he felt sick, but he remained where he was. Father wouldn't destroy this one.

 _I'm not a child anymore. Father doesn't frighten me._

It was a distant thought, but it made Rupert start to relax . . . the sound of his father's voice becoming more and more distant. His eyes began to close as exhaustion filled him. Resting his head against the wall, he curled up in the corner . . . and fell asleep.

With a jolt, he woke back up. It was dark out now. The lights were all off. Rupert pushed his glasses into place and slowly stood up. Breathing quietly, he listened for his father. Nothing. Not even a whisper. The servants had all gone to bed as well. Pushing the door open, he peeked out. The hall was dark, the shadows looking large and monstrous around him. Gulping, he hid the plane in the supply closet, and then slowly moved out. Rupert slowly began to make his way to his bedroom. The halls seemed so confusing in the dark though, and he realized as he began to make turns . . . that he had no idea where he was going.

The portraits on the walls all seemed to glare down at him, their features stern and unfriendly. His heart pattered against his chest, and it seemed so loud to him, he was sure if there were any monsters hiding about, they'd be able to hear it. Rupert was just entering a hall when he noticed a shadow moving across the wall. His heart lurched with fear, and he hid behind the corner. The shadow belonged to a figure, dark, and Rupert couldn't make out his features. It was certainly a man, but Rupert didn't recognize the silhouette belonging to any of the servants or his father.

The man walked down the hall, his feet not making a sound. Rupert, against his better judgment, followed him, tip-toeing behind. He wasn't sure where the man was leading him until he entered the room. Rupert recognized the door as the one belonging to his mother and father back when his mother was still alive. After she had died, his father had taken another bedroom to retire in, unable to sleep in the same room that his wife had died in. The room had been abandoned since. So, why was this man going inside there? Rupert pressed himself against the edge of the door and slowly snuck into the room.

To his confusion, he saw the man crawling onto the bed . . . which had a person on it. There was a sound in the corner, and Rupert looked over, seeing a crib. His crib. He was in there. A . . . a baby? But how could he be over there and here at the same time? How could he be a baby and a ten year old? _You're not ten! Wake up! It isn't real!_

Rupert scratched his head, his attention returning to the man who was bent over the sleeping person in bed. With a start, he realized what was happening. The man was a vampire. This was the story his father told him. A few months after he had been born, a vampire had managed to get himself invited into their home and killed his mother. His father had pledged himself to the Council since, and he had expected him to follow in his footsteps . . . Revenge for what they had done to his mother. "Stop!" he shouted, bursting into the room. "Don't hurt my mommy!"

Rupert didn't know his mother. He couldn't remember her face from his own memories and only had the few photos in his father's collection. But he felt as protective of her as if he had known her his entire life. The room lit up then, fire erupting in the fireplace and the candles igniting in the room. The vampire turned to him, blood smearing his smirking face. "Leave, child. Or else you'll be dessert."

But Rupert felt something shifting in him . . . his mind seemed to be awakening. "I'm . . . I'm not a child." Rupert trembled, and with a mental shove, the ten year old dissipated and Ripper stood in the room instead. His eyes narrowed on the vampire. "But I _am_ a bloody pissed off Watcher." The vampire hissed and sprang from his mother. It charged him, and Ripper ducked, grabbing a chair. He broke a leg off and tossed it into the fire. The vampire rebounded and came at him again. It slashed at his face, cutting his skin. Ripper grunted in pain and kicked him in the chest to keep him off of him.

Grabbing the now burning chair leg, he held it in front of him. The vampire hissed again and tried to attack him while avoiding the fire. Ripper used the leg like a sword and jabbed it at the vampire, more or less setting the room on fire in the process. Coughing from the smoke, he tried to stay focused on the fight. The vampire was becoming frightened of all the fire, but his hatred kept him coming. Ripper noticed him charging again and jumped up to grab the bed curtain that was on fire and wrapped him up in, trapping him in the burning cloth. The vampire shrieked, scrambling to get out, but Ripper pressed the chair leg against the cloth, further burning it and the vampire within.

After another minute, the vampire became nothing but dust and ash. Ripper felt a brief moment of victory, but the burning room was becoming intense, the entire thing nearly engulfed in flames. His eyes were watering, but he saw the still figure of his mother laying on the bed. He made his way to her. Elizabeth Giles was a beauty. His father had always told him how beautiful she was. It had been a long time since he'd seen her picture . . . and he wished he could remember her voice. His father insisted that Elizabeth always sang to him. Music forged their bond.

But one night, when his father was out hunting with a few other Watchers, this seemingly nobody vampire had enthralled one of the servants and gained entry into the Giles' estate. His father had killed the vampire's lover on an earlier routine hunting patrol . . . and had made the mistake of not searching to see if any others were lurking about. The vampire discovered who had killed his lover and swore vengeance . . . and here was the result of that vengeance. Ripper had been but a babe, sleeping quietly in the bedroom as the vampire sucked his mother dry. His father had come in during the act, but the vampire had crashed through the window and escaped. It was too late for his mother. Edmund had wept and mourned for the rest of his life. Great loves did that. That moment had changed both of their lives. Edmund had decided in that moment that he'd wage a private war with vampires for the rest of his life. It meant that his son would also join that life. Ripper would have no say in his future.

And now here he was. Trapped in some Room of Torment created by Eyghon no doubt to keep him entrapped forever . . . but he was smarter than that. He'd broken free. The flames were drawing closer, the heat starting to become painful. "I'm sorry, Mum," Ripper said quietly, looking at the pale form. She almost appeared healthy in the warm glow from the fire. "Dad couldn't save you . . . and nor could I." _But I can save Buffy. Remember that. Focus on Buffy. It's the only thing that will get you through his little games._

Tearing his gaze away from his mother, Ripper looked at the window the vampire had crashed through so many years ago. Bracing himself, he ran for it and jumped, crashing through the glass and landing . . . on grass. Coughing, he brushed himself off and stood, looking around. Nighttime. And he was in a graveyard. "It's got to be around here somewhere," a girl said, and he turned to find a group of young adults—or older teenagers, really—behind him with torches. "The Highgate vampire reportedly lives in this graveyard," the girl added.

The others joined where Rupert was standing. "See anything, Rupert?" one of his classmates asked. This scene was familiar. How did he know this? Watcher Training. He and his classmates had been sent with some information from the Council regarding the infamous Highgate Vampire that had become rather a nuisance. It was their first field assignment. They knew what to do with a vampire. Then why did he feel . . . wrong? "Rupert?" the boy, Philip was his name, asked again.

"I . . . I don't see anything," Rupert answered, his brain trying to piece what was happening together. _You know what happens. You lived this already. Remember!_

A sudden rustling made them all jump and whirl towards the sound. Their torches illuminated upon a tabby cat, which looked at them lazily before hopping back into the bushes. There was a collective sigh of relief and nervous laughter. The girl, who had obviously taken upon the role of leader . . . Charlotte, he thought her name was, cleared her throat. "Remember, everyone. Stakes out. Crosses in your other hand. If it corners you, use the cross to make it back off. If we work together, we can kill it."

There was a figure near them, dressed in a trench coat. The others took notice of it, but Rupert felt a chill enter him. "This . . . this isn't right," he said quietly. "It isn't . . . something isn't right." His gaze was transfixed on the figure that remained perfectly still, staring at a gravestone.

Philip, looking at them, lifted his chin stubbornly and walked over to the man. "Excuse me, sir," he said loudly. "You shouldn't be—"

And just as it all returned to Rupert, now Ripper, the figure turned and revealed its long talon-edged fingers. Philip gasped, thrusting a stake at it, but the creature barely winced. Instead, it pierced Philip's forehead with its proboscis, blood running down Philip's face as he screamed, his body convulsing. The others screamed as well, throwing bolts and stakes and stabbing at the creature with their swords. "Fucking Lorophage," Ripper growled, but the terror he had felt then rooted him still now. He was helpless as his classmates—one by one—were taken by the Lorophage and relived their most traumatic memories before briefly succumbing to madness . . . and death.

Ripper saw the Lorophage turn to him, and he tried to keep his limbs from shaking from pure terror. The Lorophage's large black eyes focused on him, and he charged, its talons already dripping with blood. The proboscis was worst, however, as brain matter also dripped from it. _You aren't helpless anymore. You've learned enough on your own. You've fought worse demons than this. FIGHT IT!_

The voice in him sounded more like Buffy than himself. Ripper remembered that stakes and bolts had held no effect on stopping the demon. Neither, really, had magic. So then . . . he rolled to the ground as the demon sprang to him, leaping at least ten yards to reach him. Grabbing a sword as he rolled, Ripper pushed himself up and blocked the attacking talons and proboscis. The demon slashed at him, then pecked. Ripper either deflected or dodged out of the way. He took a hit in the shoulder, the talons slashing through his school clothes and into his flesh. Ripper grunted in pain, feeling his hot blood leak onto his clothes. The Lorophage seemed even more desperate to get at him.

Ripper jumped over a tombstone, backing up for more space to maneuver. The Lorophage leapt as well . . . but it moved behind him, so great was its leap. Ripper spun and was hit hard from the side, knocked to the ground. The Lorophage was on him in a second, the proboscis headed right for his forehead. Ripper shouted out and swung his sword blindly . . . and heard a loud hissing sound and felt wetness hit his face. Opening his eyes, he saw the Lorophage stumbling backwards, the proboscis missing. It was sitting beside him instead. He'd managed to cleave it straight off.

Wiping the blood from his face, Ripper quickly got back to his feet and prepared for another attack, but the Lorophage seemed to be collapsing in on itself. The more blood that came out, the less Lorophage there seemed to be . . . until all that remained was an empty trench coat. Panting, Ripper wiped his face as clean as he could get it, then looked around. The graveyard remained silent. This was different. He hadn't defeated the Lorophage that night . . . the poignant night that had decided his exit from the Watcher Academy. He'd been attacked . . . right after he had watched the easy slaughter of his classmates. He thought he'd be next, and he remembered the awful things the demon had forced him to relive.

And then his father had been there. His father and a couple of other Watchers. They had saved him and driven the Lorophage off. Where were they? Ripper looked around, then asked hesitantly, "F-Father?"

"Over here, Rupert!" he heard his father's voice.

Ripper took off. He hadn't seen his father in years. He . . . he needed to apologize. He needed to tell him that he understood what he had been trying to do for him. More importantly, that mother's death wasn't his fault . . . and that he loved him. There were lights in the distance, as if from torches, and he hurried forward. "Father!" he exclaimed as he reached the lights . . . but it was in fact a single light, and it was coming from a door that was wedged open just a smidge.

A door in the middle of a graveyard. Ripper steeled himself. "Alright, Eyghon. What have you got for me next?" He pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. He entered a forest. Not just any forest, but the clearing in the forest where the stone—the Holy Grail—had been. It was devoid of Solii now. Devoid of everyone, really . . . save the person standing opposite him. Blond hair . . . slight figure . . . and her face—what was once adorable—was deformed and tainted by Eyghon's possession, the face stretched over demonic scales and horns and teeth.

Eyghon. He knew it was Eyghon. But he whispered, "hello, Buffy."


	18. To Hell and Back

"I'm sorry," Ripper said quietly, his chest hurting at the sight of her. "I never wanted this for you." His darkness was meant to be his own. His mistakes were meant to be paid for with his own life . . . his own soul. Buffy, or whatever was left of her, stood and stared at him, still and stoic. Ripper swallowed, taking a hesitant step towards her. Buffy smiled then, and he froze. It wasn't the smile he knew and adored. It was cold and terrifying and stretched her face to inhuman proportions.

"You didn't care," Buffy said, her voice flanged with the sound of Eyghon's demonic tones. "If you did, you would have let me stay with Riley. You wouldn't have drew me in. I was fine before you. I'd be alive if you had never shown up, or if you just went back to London." Her words strung, simply because he knew she was telling the truth. It was the self-depreciating whispers in his mind, and to his horror, they were now flung at him through Buffy's own mouth. He was whipped into vulnerability, raw and exposed. "You can make it better now though, Ripper," Buffy told him, taking a few slow steps towards him. "Put me out of my misery. End it here. Now."

With that, she leapt up and aimed a kick at his chest. Ripper gasped and scrambled out of the way, suddenly defending against her attacks. She retained her Slayer strength, so each punch and kick was like a battering ram against him. Ripper grunted, dodging the best he could. Her fist came for his face, his jaw, his chest. He managed to block the ones coming for his face, but she landed a blow to his chest which sent him flying backwards to the ground. The pain from it knocked the wind out of him, and he choked, trying to suck in some air. Buffy jumped up and was shooting down to crush his head with her knee, but he pushed himself and rolled away. "Come on!" Buffy shouted at him. "Fight me! Don't be the coward I've always known you were. Prove yourself better! Fight me!"

Ripper pushed himself back up to his feet and knocked her oncoming fists to the side once more, panting hard. "I can't," he croaked. He was getting tired, his muscles starting to burn from the strain of fending her off. "I can't hurt you, Buffy." She growled and only fought faster, but his growing weariness was making him miss, and she landed more blows. Buffy twisted herself and then landed a roundhouse kick that sent him flying onto his back once more. Grunting, he tasted blood in his mouth and coughed it out. His head was aching . . . hell, his entire body was aching. Ripper stared up at her as she stood over him.

"I will kill you," Buffy told him. "Unless you can kill me first."

Ripper swallowed past the taste of blood in his mouth. "I can't hurt you, Buffy," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I made this happen to you. But I can't kill you. Never you, Buffy." He felt resolute in his decision . . . content . . . at peace. Her blood wouldn't stain his hands. "Go on then," he murmured and relaxed where he lay, letting her have her choice of where to go for the kill. Buffy snarled and shot her hands forward, clasping him around the throat and squeezing, suffocating him. Ripper breathed in sharply, but it caught in his throat, and his lungs immediately started to scream for air. His hands gripped at her wrists, and he struggled for a moment, his body reacting to the fight or flight signal.

Tears ran down his eyes, his heart surging in his chest, trying to beat as much as it could before it expired. Blackness edged in around his vision, and he could feel his windpipe wanting to close in on itself. She was too strong. But then something was happening . . . Buffy appeared to be shaking before him, to the point where she was a blur. Whether it was because his brain was being starved of oxygen, or it was reality, Buffy's face started to contort. The demonic features extended, and then lessened. Became intense, and then with a shudder, Buffy's features became normal. She immediately released his throat and fell to the ground.

Inhaling sharply, Ripper coughed and pushed himself into a sitting position. Before him, Buffy lay at his feet, crumpled and pale. But normal. She had passed out. With good reason, apparently, for behind Buffy stood Eyghon in his true form. Ripper's eyes widened as he took in the scaled monstrosity before him. Eyghon was easily three stories tall. Long talons stretched from humanoid hands. Ripper knew one strike from those, and he'd be finished off in a second. Steam rose from Eyghon, off of the tan scales that covered the body. Eyghon himself looked like some terrible cross between a canine, bat and dragon. His teeth was nothing but a line of razor-sharp fangs, which were colored with decay and other stains that Ripper really didn't want to think about. Eyghon had a set of ears that stretched above his head, looking almost to be horns, but in fact looked more like the bat ears. A crown of scales and spikes, blue, stretched across the crest of his face and between his ears, atop his head. A long tail extended behind him, also scaled and spiked. His eyes were that glowing green he had seen in the face of Philip and Buffy . . . cruel . . . a promise held within of the most terrible tortures to come to him.

"Well," Ripper said, his voice hoarse due to the earlier stress forced upon it, "I was wondering when we'd finally meet face to face." The tired warlock stood on his feet and stepped over Buffy's body, putting himself between her and Eyghon. He had no idea how Buffy had managed to exorcize the demon, but she had . . . now it was up to him.

"Your soul belongs to me," Eyghon hissed, the sound Ripper could only describe as being like molten lava. It felt like it was burning the inside of his ears. "She may have been too weak, but killing you will be a great pleasure. Do you like it here? It's your new home. Well . . . sort of," he smirked, "this is heaven compared to where you'll be staying. I have quite the room set out for you. Every night, a little hook will be pierced through your skin . . . and your bed will be moved . . . slowly . . . so that your flesh rips centimeter by centimeter. And when your entire body has been flayed, I'll regrow it, and we shall begin again . . . and again . . ."

Ripper became uninterested immediately. "That's a lot of talk," he said, trying to sound as though he wasn't half-dead on his feet already. His body was battered by the fight with Buffy. All Eyghon had to do was squish him with one of those hands, or impale him with one of those talons, and he was a dead man. The staff on his back remained there, but he knew he couldn't summon Mercury just yet. Eyghon would always follow him—hunt him. He had to be destroyed once and for all. "You'll be doing a great disservice to the female population by removing my skin. I look lovely with my skin. As an avid fan of the love of women, I shall simply have to reject that little plan of yours and keep my skin right where it is." Eyghon cackled and took a step forward. The heat from him made Ripper's eyes water, and a fresh layer of sweat bead his flesh. Touching the demon seemed like a terrible idea as well.

"Then let us play, little Ripper."

Eyghon came at him, faster than Ripper had expected him to move. Blindly, he dodged to the side, missing a strike from those deadly talons. Eyghon gave a cruel chuckle and quickly whirled back around, his tail flicking to swipe at Ripper instead. Gasping, he jumped back, but the tail managed to hit his foot, and he was sent sprawling across the ground. "Fuck!" he coughed as he landed hard.

Eyghon made a sound of amusement. "Stay still, Ripper, and I promise I'll make it quick. We have the rest of eternity to play." Ripper pushed himself up and backed away as another swipe of talons dug into the area where he had just been laying. The talons gauged through the rock, sending fragments flying as he pulled them out. Ripper needed to attack. He'd become too tired eventually, and all it took was one second too late, and he'd split into two. There was only one weapon that he thought might have a chance against a demon like Eyghon. There was an old anecdote that said too much of anything could kill oneself. Eyghon wanted his soul . . . well, he was going to bloody get his soul. Ripper reached inside of him this time, feeling the bright light that existed in all life. With a great deal of effort, strain and pain, he pulled his soul out of his body and into his hand, where a sword forged in his palm and extended until it became a broadsword.

It shone with a bright, silvery light, glimmering. It lit the open area almost completely. Eyghon looked at it and roared, shielding his eyes and pausing his charge. Ripper used another spell to launch himself up from the ground and into the air. With a cry of rage and agony and pure exhaustion, he held his sword up above his head. Eyghon saw him coming and swiped his clawed hand at him. The talons caught on the sword, but they slipped down and sliced his shoulder down to his navel. Ripper grunted and hissed, the pain searing, but he remained locked on his target.

As he came down, he saw the brief fear in Eyghon's eyes and felt a momentary thrill of victory . . . And then he slammed his sword into one of those eyes and pierced it right through Eyghon's skull. His feet landed on Eyghon's lips, and he struggled to keep his footing as Eyghon moved his mouth. That pit of teeth was not something he wanted to fall into. All around him was shuddering as Eyghon started to go through his death throes. "H-How!?" Eyghon sputtered, making Ripper fall from his lip and dangle from his sword wedged into Eyghon's skull and brain.

Ripper was helpless in this position, and Eyghon was still fighting the inevitable. Reaching into his sword, he extended his soul, making it fill Eyghon's brain . . . splintering it piece by piece. More. He needed to expand it completely. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Looking down, he saw a talon pierced through his side. Blood spat up from his mouth, and the pain was so intense, he nearly let go of his sword. "I. Will. Take. You. With. Me," Eyghon growled, ripping deeper into his flesh. Ripper cried out, his strength fading, both magically and physically.

Then, far below him, he heard the smallest of sounds. "Ripper?" Buffy's voice floated up to him. Buffy. With a last ditch effort, he exploded his sword inside of Eyghon, making it engulf the demon from the inside. Light shot out of Eyghon's remaining eye and mouth and between his scales. Eyghon shrieked in agony, and Ripper fell . . . fell . . . fell . . . exhaustion taking over, a faraway stinging sensation on his arm, and then blackness swallowing him whole.

* * *

"Ripper . . . Ripper, wake up . . . Come on, Ripper . . ." the voice was so far away, he couldn't quite grasp it. It seemed to float in a netherworld of emptiness, an absence of anything and everything. But the voice pulled at him, made the darkness start to dissipate . . . and then he was opening his eyes. Ripper stared up at a familiar face, and despite the almost crippling agony he found himself in this new place of consciousness, he smiled at her.

"Aren't you a lovely sight for sore eyes?" he whispered.

Buffy smiled, relief clearly written in her features. Ripper was laying on his back, sprawled across the rock. His shoulder and side were killing him, and he could feel the warm liquid of his blood coating his clothes and skin. He was so tired. "Taking on a demon and killing him? Big show off. Who do you think you are? A Watcher?" she teased, lightly touching his face. Her fingers lightly brushed along his cheek and through his hair.

"Just . . . trying to keep up with you, love," Ripper grinned back, his teeth grit together from the pain. Moving his head as much as he could, he looked over at the giant pile of ash. It was smoking still, some bits of it still on fire. He'd done it. Eyghon was vanquished. Ripper was surprised his soul had been pure enough to do the deed. Perhaps he wasn't as stained and tainted as he had previously thought.

"So, how do we get out of here?" Buffy asked. "I mean . . . can I? I sort of died . . . for real. And how did you get here, anyway? You didn't die too, did you?" she asked, looking as though she were about to give him a right good scolding.

"Before I bleed to death, I suggest we leave," Ripper said. He had no idea how much damage Eyghon had done to him. Whether his organs had been damaged and he was living on borrowed time or not, he hadn't a clue. "Hopefully, Willow will have enough juice left in her to give me a nice old healing spell. All this blood has stained one of my favorite shirts." He was trying to make light of the situation, but he could see that Buffy knew how dire the situation was.

"How do we get back?" she asked, determination in her eyes. "I'll carry you if I have to."

Reaching for his back, he pulled the staff from the carrier and handed it to her. "Hold onto this," he said, then gripped over some etched runes on the wood. Once Buffy was holding on, Ripper bit down on his pain and said aloud, "Mercury, God of Travelers, Commerce and Herald of the Underworld, we seek passage home. Hear our humble plea and lead the way." The ruins on the staff lit up, the staff glowing. It shot up in the air, breaking free of their gasp, and then hovered above them. From the top of the staff, a light shot out and a portal formed.

From out of the portal a young man robed in white stepped forward. He had sandy brown hair that spiked up and curled. "Well, hello there!" he greeted them. "Got yourselves into a bit of trouble I see. It's been awhile since I've been summoned." Mercury walked over to them, inspecting the two of them. "What you two doing in a place like this? You're mortal," he said to Ripper, "and you . . . your soul doesn't belong here," he added to Buffy. "Where would you like to go?"

"E-Earth," Ripper stuttered, starting to feel cold. "The mortal dimension. Look in my mind, you'll see where." Buffy held onto his hand tightly. Mercury nodded, and lifted Ripper up into his arms as if he was carrying a small baby. With Buffy at his side, he led them through the portal where they exited and found themselves back at the farmhouse. Willow and Xander jumped up from the sofa at the sight of them, their mouths hanging open. Mercury placed Ripper on the now abandoned sofa, and disappeared without another word, the staff in his hand.

Buffy, who had disappeared, suddenly gasped and sprang from the table where her body had been. She looked around wildly, touching herself, then jumped off the table and ran over to Willow and Xander, who cried out at the sight of her and jumped into a group hug. "You made it! You made it!" Willow kept shouting over and over. Suffice it to say, there were tears. Lots of tears.

Pulling away from them, Buffy pulled Willow over to where Ripper lay on the sofa. "Help him. He got hurt pretty badly down there." She cast an anxious look over Ripper, who was feeling colder and colder by the second.

"He looks so pale," he heard Xander add.

"I'll see what I can do," Willow promised, the celebration momentarily paused. She placed her hands just above Ripper's body and began to whisper. Ripper couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but he gasped and arched as little bolts of electricity ran through him. It was hard to breathe during it, his tissues and muscle and all the stuff in between reconnecting and healing. Warmth started to return to him, and the pain receded into a distant dull throb. After a few more moments, Willow gasped and slumped against the coffee table in front of the sofa. "That's it. That's all I've got. How do you feel, Ripper?"

Taking stock of himself, he lifted his shirt and saw some nasty gashes that needed a bandage, but the wounds were closed and the bleeding had more or less stopped. More importantly, he felt better, like one of his kidneys wasn't going to suddenly pop out of his body. "Not bad, Willow. Not bloody bad at all," Ripper grinned, pushing himself up. He needed to change still, of course, being covered in blood stained clothes and all that. "So, how long was I gone?" he asked them curiously, slowly pushing himself up onto his feet.

"Three days," Willow replied. "We were beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get back . . . and how we were going to get back to America if you didn't."

"Not that we ever lost hope though," Xander quickly added. "So . . . how was it?"

"You can tell them the story, love," Ripper said, kissing the top of Buffy's head. "I have a terrible need of a shower." He excused himself and went for the nearest loo where he changed out of his soiled clothes and washed thoroughly, wincing a few times when his wounds stung. Once he had been cleaned up, he went through medical cabinet and cleaned and dressed his wounds before putting on some fresh clothes. Walking back out into the sitting room, he heard Buffy explaining the fight.

"I saw all of it. I mean I was there, it was just Eyghon was there, too. I couldn't really control myself, because it was my spirit, you know?" Buffy was explaining, looking quite her normal self despite having been in a hell dimension for . . . well . . . who knew how long it had been for her. A day? Two? It brought him relief to see her so animated and happy to be back with her friends. It was obvious her friends were just as relieved and happy to have her back. They sat on either side of her on the couch, obviously keen on being as close to her as possible. "But I was present the whole time. Eyghon was spying on Ripper the second he entered the dimension. I saw . . . well . . . all the stuff he did," she glanced at Ripper as he took a seat in one of the armchairs, being mindful of resting his weight against his good side, rather than the injured one.

"And then it was time for him to meet Eyghon. Well . . . me and Eyghon. He was trying to have me kill Ripper, or really, he wanted Ripper to kill me. Not that I'd really die. I was already dead. But, you know, the whole fucked up idea of killing a loved one and all that. But Ripper couldn't do it. So, Eyghon was going to kill him by using my spirit as the vessel. I knew this. And . . . somehow . . . some part of me fought back. I managed to banish Eyghon out of my soul and then blacked out. I don't know what happened after that. I just woke up and found Eyghon dead, and Ripper starting to ooze out his innards," Buffy wrinkled her nose. "So, what happened, anyway? How did you kill him? You did kill him, right?"

Looking down at his arm, he showed them a burn mark where his tattoo, the Mark of Eyghon, used to be. "I felt it stinging shortly after I destroyed him. I wasn't sure if it would work . . . but it was the only thing I could think to do . . . I um . . . filled him with my soul. Logically, it made sense to me," he shrugged. "An ancient evil like Eyghon has been absent of a soul, perhaps since the beginning of his existence. A soul, which is in its essence pure and holy, would obliterate the corrupt. I just . . . I mean I wasn't sure if my soul would be pure enough to make it work," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.

Buffy immediately came over and sat herself in his lap, wrapping her arms gently around his neck. "I wouldn't have doubted," she whispered in his ear. "You're my Giles. No matter what death and bad choices you've made . . . you're a good man at your core. Eyghon would have never been able to smother that."

Her words were comforting, and he adored her for saying so. "I'm not sure I would have been without you, love," he whispered back. "You've helped change my perspective on the world. I don't think I'd be able to—"

"Okay, so remember us?" Xander broke in. "Smoochie talk later. Will and I have been waiting for days, remember? Go on. Soul-killing of Eyghon . . ."

"And," Ripper smirked at Buffy, before looking back at the others, "after Eyghon got a little stab-happy, I—more or less—exploded my soul inside of him. I'd taken quite a beating at this point, so I promptly lost consciousness and awoke to find Buffy with me and Eyghon nothing but a mountain of flaming ash."

"I saw him die," Buffy said. "I woke up when I saw you dangling. It was terrible. But he seemed to like . . . dissolve . . . like every particle of him lit up in flames, and then dissolved into ash and dust. Make a pretty good fire for some marshmallows," she grinned.

"Then I summoned Mercury who was kind enough to carry me here, and now . . . well . . . we're here," Ripper finished. "What about on your end? Anything happen? Did the Council ever stop by?"

"They did," Willow nodded. "They searched the place, took back the maps and scrolls you stole. They s aw Buffy's body, too. We said you died whilst trying to save her, and since we're more or less living here now, they believed us. Unless they discover the truth, I think we're safe from them for now. We'll have to be careful though," she added, "I don't like the idea of having to keep looking over our shoulder."

Ripper scratched his jaw. "I'll . . . have to make amends with them. Somehow. Sometime." It was time to grow up. His little experience in the hell dimension had also kicked him into seeing his life in a new perspective, as well as those who had fueled the unquenchable anger within him. "For now though . . . sleep." He felt as though he could sleep for weeks uninterrupted. Buffy snuggled into him, murmuring in agreement. He didn't need to ask if she intended on sleeping with him. As soon as he got up from his chair, she was clinging around his waist, resting against him.

He clung right back. The despair that had nearly crippled him from her death lingered in his mind. Never again. He was going to keep her safe and watch her in every fight. That would never happen again. She'd be the first Slayer to live well into her nineties . . . perhaps beyond. Ripper kissed the top of her head as they made their way to his bedroom. Surprisingly, Buffy suddenly grabbed his arse and grinned up at him. "I feel incredible. Like I had a week's worth of good sleep. What did you do to my body?" she asked him.

"I healed it, and then put a preservation spell on it until your soul was able to return to it. Looks like my healing powers are more potent than I already thought," he smirked. "Once I've rested, I'll have to try healing myself. Hopefully, I reach the same level of health as you."

"Mhm," she purred into his ear, her hand quite the wandering caress, "you're going to need your strength."

"You're bloody right. You have quite a deal of making up to do. Leaving me in the morning to off yourself," Ripper shook his head, pushing open the door to his bedroom. "You can't ever do that again, Buffy. You've sacrificed enough. We'll work together to find another solution if that cost ever crops up again," he told her firmly.

Buffy looked at him and smiled. He knew deep down that this was just to make him complacent. She was the Slayer. She knew she'd die again if it meant saving the world. It was the price he had to pay to love her . . . to accept that she'd always have to choose the world over him. It was a steep price to swallow. To make it better, she kissed into his jaw and moved in front of him. "Let's do this the right way this time," she whispered to him. "No one leaves in the morning."

His eyebrows lifted at that. "I'm not sure I'm in the best state for that sort of activity, love, tempting though you are."

Buffy laughed and led him to his bed, before urging him to lay back and straddling his hips. "Silly Ripper. Did the English only teach you the missionary position? A woman can top too, you know. A revolutionary idea, I know." His eyes widened. Well. Who was he to argue with that progressive statement? Buffy gave a made humming noise and then leaned down, kissing him. Ripper sighed happily into her mouth, his hands gripping her hips and pressing her down against him. Fire stirred in his belly, heating his blood and skin.

"Mm, Ripper," Buffy moaned, grinding herself against him in a most sensual manner that had him gasping and arching against her.

But something wasn't quite right. "I . . ." he looked up at her, both of their eyes bright with lust and love, "I think . . ." he faltered, feeling rather embarrassed by himself.

"What is it, honey?" Buffy asked, kissing him one more time to assure him.

"I . . . I want to be called Rupert."

She smiled at that. "Make me call you Rupert," she teased with quite a saucy wink, and he felt a sharp surge of desire. Oh, he'd do that. They kissed again, faster, hotter, an electric fire bursting between them. She shocked and burned. In a confusing disarray of clothes removal, the two stripped down and touched and caressed and kissed and suckled. Then, Buffy aligned him with her entrance and slowly sank down on him. With a sigh and a moan, Ripper dissolved and grew and evolved . . . and embraced Rupert.


	19. Rupert

**Author's Note: I just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed during the process of writing this little story, as well as those in the future who will discover it in their own time. I've received far more support than I would have expected for something as under the radar and misunderstood as the Buffy/Giles ship. Though this story is finally coming to a conclusion with the following chapter, it may very well prove to be the first installation of a series. We shall have to see what the muse whispers in my ear. All the same, I cannot express enough my gratitude for the support and enthusiasm I've received, particularly those who were kind enough to take an extra minute and leave me a lovely note via review. Now, onto the conclusion of 'A 'Ripper' in Time.' Thank-you!**

* * *

The instant Buffy slid him inside of her, Rupert was gasping in pleasured agony. She was snug and wet and the movement of her hips against him was a rhythm that tantalized and seduced. His hands grabbed at her hips fiercely, and he helped urge her down against him, tilting his hips to send his cock deeper inside of her. She gasped above him, her hands clutching his shoulders for the moment. However, one hand was nearing the wounded part of his shoulder, and he hissed in pain. "Sorry!" Buffy gave a breathless sound, moving her hand to clutch at his hair instead.

"Bloody hell, it's fine. Just don't stop!" Rupert demanded, the pleasure far outweighing any of the pain. Buffy grinned down at him, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from her lips. He shivered when he felt her breasts drag against his chest, and he lifted an arm to wrap around her and keep her pressed against him a moment longer. Her hips moved down on him, riding them up a mountain of bliss. Each downward movement left him gasping and arching. Buffy was moaning above him, her pleasure evident in the quickly increasing speed of her hips against him.

Rupert, weak though he was, needed to extend her pleasure as much as he could. He brought his hands up to tease her breasts. His fingers manipulated her sensitive nipples, fingers pinching and then swiping over the very tip in an exquisite design. Buffy gasped, her body straining for a moment and then bucked down hard against him. "Oh god, yes!" she cried out, giving a high-pitched moan afterwards. She rode him faster, the bed rocking against its frame. "Oh yes! Yes, don't stop doing that!" she demanded of him.

He could feel her becoming wetter, her slickness running down his cock and into the sheets. God, she was soaking. His entire body was buzzing with pleasure, and he felt his cock become almost painfully hard inside of her, his blood centering in one point. "Fuck," he growled, his fingers swirling against her nipples faster and faster. Buffy was sobbing above him in her state of bliss, her hips pounding down against him. She was taking her pleasure from him, and he absolutely loved it. As she rode him with abandon, he dropped one of his hands to give her attention where he knew she needed it.

Her clit was pulsing and soaked the second he touched it. Buffy mewled, her hand tightening in his hair. Both of their breathing was becoming ragged, the heat between them making their bodies flush and sweat. "Buffy! Ohhhhhhhh! Yes!" he cried, rubbing her furiously, his wrist twisting over and over. Buffy was crying out loudly in affirmation, her thighs starting to clench and twitch on either side of him. She was close. "Come on, Buffy! Fuck me. Make yourself come on my cock," he growled, pinching her clit.

She shrieked, her entire body stilling, save for her hips, which were gyrating against him. She was coming, the evidence of it leaking down his cock. Buffy moaned loudly, arching backwards and continuing to rub herself against his pelvic bone as she rode out her orgasm. "Oh god, Rupert. Yes, you feel so good inside of me." Her core treasured him inside of her, squeezing and milking him in a delicious manner that had his toes curling.

The final hand at her breast moved to her lower back instead, curling around her and keeping her in place on top of him. His own orgasm was just on the edge, and as lovely as her grinding was, he really needed a bit . . . more. Buffy caught her breath, and then resumed her movements, riding him at an enthusiastic gallop. God, he loved that Slayer stamina. "OH!" he shouted, clutching onto her at the onslaught of renewed pleasure. "YES! YES!" He had no idea what she was doing, but she was rocking him into a spot inside of her that had him completely losing his mind.

"BUFFY!" he bellowed, grunting afterwards. His body was stiffening, muscles contracting one by one. She grinned down at him, her breasts lightly bouncing, looking surprisingly adorable despite being extremely naughty. "FFFFFFUCK!" he crowed, and then felt his orgasm rip through him, his seed exploding out of him and burying inside of her eager walls. Buffy gasped then cooed, her hands lightly running along his chest as she slowed her movements. Rupert moaned softly, riding that plateau for as long as he could, his ears buzzing a little. "Mmm," he smiled as the warm afterglow swallowed him up. "Bloody good at that, love," he told her.

Buffy blushed but smiled and rested down beside him. Her head moved to fit in the spot where he wasn't injured, curling against him. Rupert kissed her forehead, then snuggled down with her. "What do we do in the morning?" Buffy asked him. "There's still a hellmouth in Sunnydale. Who knows what's happened there while I've been away?"

"Hm," Rupert nodded. "We'll head back once we can procure our tickets. And . . . after I face the Council." She looked up at him questioningly. "You saw what I saw, right? Eyghon showed you the memories of my past?" Buffy nodded. "Right. Battling those demons . . . my fear and hatred of my father . . . my hatred of the Council when they were wrong about the Lorophage demon . . . It opened my eyes. I understand now. My father wanted to keep me safe from the monsters because he lost the woman he loved to them. He was hard because he had to be. It's a serious world, this endless war of good versus evil. But I've forgiven him for taking my childhood . . . and the Council for taking my innocence. My hatred and anger and loathing always directed my choices . . . but they also gave me an excuse not to reach my potential in life. It isn't just about destiny. I'd be a good Watcher, I think. A boy runs and hides . . . I'm a man now. And I want to be a good man for you. So, I'm going to face the Council and submit myself to whatever punishment they have in mind for me. Then I'll ask to resume my studies and graduate from the Watcher Academy at long last."

Buffy peered at him. "Does this mean you're going to wear tweed again?"

Rupert snorted. "Just because I'm letting my anger go doesn't mean I'm losing my fashion sense. Please," he rolled his eyes. "The Council will just have to accept my ratty denims and graphic t-shirts, or they can stuff it." It was a new world. A new age of Slayer and Watcher. Buffy and himself were the heralds. Change meant life. If the Council refused to change, then it would die. Hell, it was close to extinction as it was. "Though I suppose I might go back to wearing glasses. These bloody contacts hurt my eyes after a time."

She hummed at that and snuggled into him anew. "Whatever you think is best for you," she told him. "We're in it together." She paused. "Though the Council isn't the only one you might have to worry about." Buffy glanced up at him. "Ethan is still out there."

Ah yes. His old mate. He'd managed to escape Eyghon, though Rupert couldn't imagine how he had done so. Ethan was a clever man, though, so he supposed if anyone could do it, it would be him. "I don't think he'll come after me," he said to her. "He knows our friendship is nonexistent. If he tries anything . . . well . . . I'll put him in his place." Buffy gave him a dubious look at this, as if she didn't quite believe him. He understood her doubt. Ethan was a powerful sorcerer as well, and he didn't have the same reservations that Rupert did about the dark arts. He wouldn't be surprised if Ethan had sold himself to another demon for more power.

He breathed in and relaxed into his bed. "But those are all matters to face later."

Buffy kissed his shoulder. "And what do we do in the meantime?"

Rupert smiled down at her. "We love. We have fantastic sex. And we save the world. Not necessarily in that order."

Though it was dark in the room, he could see the light in her eyes. A light that matched the one within his own. "I can do that," she agreed. "I suppose I do sort of really love you. Like a lot."

"Mhm. Though, I think we can both agree that I love you the most." Buffy's mouth fell open at that, and before she could protest, he continued, "I mean that saying? 'I'll go through Hell for you.' Yeah, did that. I literally went to Hell and back for you. So, I win." Buffy scowled and slapped him in the chest. "Ow!" he chuckled, grabbing her wrists and pulling her to him for a kiss.

"I hate you," she grumbled once he pulled back with a grin.

"I know."

 **THE END.**


	20. Sneak Peek of the Ripper Sequel

**Author's Note: To whet the appetites for the eventual sequel, here's a little sneak peek of the first chapter of the next installment.**

* * *

Above him, the line of Watchers—or Watcher-Superiors, as he had secretly dubbed them—looked down their noses at him. Each one was clad in the tweediest of tweed and all carried the same stoic seriousness as they regarded him. Rupert Giles, now twenty-five, matched their stare. He wore a Rolling Stones t-shirt with a cardigan draped over. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and though his hair remained messy, the eyeliner was cleaned off and the earring removed from his ear. Chewing his gum, he finally shrugged a shoulder. "Well? Are we going to carry on with the staring match, or are you going to hand over my diploma? Or whatever it is you give to a Watcher."

The Director, Quentin Travers, moved first. Clearing his throat, he pretended to look down at the list of Rupert's grades and commentary on his performances for all the classes he had taken. It was a pretense because Rupert knew quite well that Travers had likely memorized the entire thing, looking for a way to deny him his graduation. Travers didn't respect him very much, which worked well enough for Rupert, as he didn't much respect the man either. Rupert knew he'd be trying for the role of Director in time. Changes needed to be made in the Watcher's Council, and he knew he was the only one who could make those changes.

"It seems you've completed each exam and practical with remarkable results, Mr. Giles," Quentin said finally, setting the paper down. "While your attitude and mouth still leaves much to be desired, academically you have succeeded your training . . . but as you well know, we require Watchers-in-Training to go on one large case . . . Slay a vampire . . . that sort of thing."

Rupert grunted. "Yes, I'm all too aware of that tradition. I've been Slaying vampires and killing ancient demons since before acquiring my credentials. What of it?"

Quentin remained calm. "We are issuing you your assignment. Your final examination to prove your loyalty to both the Council, and the oath it stands for."

The urge to roll his eyes was high, but Rupert merely sighed quietly and leaned against the podium in front of him. He was in a circular room, one where the Council held its most private trials and the graduation ceremonies of its Watchers-in-Training. "Alright, what have I go to do?" he asked, already feeling annoyed by this assignment. He knew how to kill vampires. He knew how to kill demons. This was just something to waste his time. He'd already been apart from Buffy for two years. He missed the hell out of her. She was back in Sunnydale waiting for him and keeping the number of successful apocalypses down to zero. He was eager to return to her, and the Council was just being difficult now.

Quentin's eyes gleamed for just a moment. "We've had a series of reports of incidents in Los Angeles. A new force of demon is gaining in power there. Well, when I see new, I really mean old. The oldest, in fact. We call them the Seven Deadly Sins. It would seem that they have been brought by an associate of yours . . . Ethan Rayne." Rupert felt a punch in his gut, and a cold sweat start at the back of his neck. "Your assignment is to find Mr. Rayne and execute him as well as the demons he has Summoned. Do this, and you have earned your Watcher status."

Rupert swallowed, looking down for the first time. "Ethan . . . was my friend. Surely, you can find someone who doesn't have a personal attachment to the assignment?" he asked.

"Of course," Quentin agreed. "But none with your . . . expertise . . . in fighting ancient demons. You leave for America tomorrow, Mr. Giles. Remember . . . you must kill Ethan Rayne, or face infinite expulsion from the Council."


End file.
